Hey there,
Last night I was thinking to myself that I've been so intent on posting old entries from my handwritten journal that I haven't posted anything in the present. So here's your update of the day:
The "green" in the title refers to money, since I'm still waiting for word on a start date for the next project. They had set it for this past Monday, but then called me at nearly 9pm last Saturday night (while I was in the middle of finishing a bottle of red Chilean wine) to tell me that it was being pushed back indefinitely. And that's the status still today. Let me tell you that I'm definitely ready to get back to a regular schedule (my body feels uncomfortable when I'm irregular) and back to making some dolla dolla bills, y'all.
I just officially picked up a new client this morning, though, so it's all good in the hood, at least for the time being.
Besides the job situation, everything else is pretty chill here at the double-deuce & spruce. Autumn has arrived and as you may remember from last year's entry around this time, this is my favorite time of year.
And just as autumn is a time of transition, so may it coincide with my personal life as things seem to indicate a transition there too. I won't speculate too much on that here, since that's not my thing on this site, but also because I'd rather let things unfold naturally without too much analysis or prediction.
Finally, I'm getting a bit more excited for the SE Asia trip with Paul. We've met once to do some initial planning. And since then, I've compiled a lot of info from various people into a single cheat-sheet travel plan. Paul and I will probably get together soon to fill-in some of the holes in that plan. But you can be sure that we'll be posting updates like mad once we're over yonder. And that's when you'll be entertained beyond all expectations.
Okay people, that's all you get for now. I will, in fact, keep putting up old journal entries at my own leisure. Thanks! And have a great weekend.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
real quick . . .
- i'm spending a lot of time uploading old entries, so be sure to browse through the blog archive in the years 2002 to 2004 for the latest entries
- don't be afraid to vote . . . i know you're reading this, so you're able to vote . . . c'mon, someone's gotta break the ice. and while we're on the topic, i just now read that the phillies have moved to a 1/2 game ahead of the mets
- if anyone has any advice on se asia, please send it my way
- this is enough bullet points for one night . . . don't wanna contribute too much to that negative image of our beloved city of philadelphia :-)
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The end of a chapter
Today was the last day of the project. It was a good run: from October 22, 2007 until today: almost 11 months. That's not bad, considering that when we were hired they told us that the project would last only six months. But, despite this, it still sucks to be laid-off.
The warning signs had been there. We had one huge, seemingly neverending assignment that kept us mind-numbingly busy for nearly three weeks. Everyone wondered what, if anything, could possibly be on the other end of this assignment. There were rumors and speculation that the project would end once we got through all these documents. Trying to maintain my sense of optimism, I shut my ears off to what I interpreted as the annoying pessimism of unsubstantiated rumors. In the end, I was wrong. And I have to say that the gossipers seemed to barely veil their happiness when they found out that I was wrong -- but at what cost, I asked myself: we've all lost our jobs! Talk about a Pyrrhic victory.
There are a lot of great things that I took away from this job. First and foremost, I'm so grateful to have met so many nice people that I now consider friends. If there was one major thing, besides a girlfriend, that my life was missing here in Philadelphia, it's a circle of friends that live locally, especially within Center City. I think I can say that I have that now, and I'm very happy for it. I truly hope that I can do my part to maintain these friendships.
Secondly, I'm happy to report that I was able to do some things financially -- as a result of the project -- that I could have only dreamed of a year ago while I was waiting for the results of the bar exam. Among these, I have to be most grateful for being afforded the opportunity to catch up on all my rent and bills, of which I was at least two months behind at the time the project began. Along these lines, I'm very thankful that I was able to save up a significant rainy-day fund, which I knew would provide security for the inevitable period of unemployment and any other period of financial instability or emergency.
Thirdly, but directly on the tail of the financial benefits of the job, I'm so happy to have been afforded the chance to travel -- one of my great loves of life. Earlier this year, due to the flexibility of the job and the money that I was able to earn and save from it, I was able to travel to Egypt, Germany, and for one afternoon, the Netherlands. And not only that, but in less than two months time, I will be traveling to southeast Asia, hopefully to Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. These incredible experiences -- of which so few people in this world are able to enjoy -- are a direct benefit of my employment at the project. For this I feel truly blessed.
The ending of project was certainly bittersweet. During the last couple hours of work today, many of us exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. And at the very end of the day, there were lots of hugs. It was really nice, and I don't take for granted the camaraderie and genuine feelings that were expressed in those hugs and warm handshakes. Towards the end of the day, the project lead, Lakisha, stood up to say a few words in recognition of the friendliness exhibited on the project and the fact that so many people, in her words, "gelled" on this project like no other that she has ever been on. I thought that was a very classy move on her part to say those nice things and it meant a lot to me that she said that.
But, all things must come to an end, and so it goes for this project. As one door closes, so shall another door open. It's just a matter of getting my bearings so that I can locate this next door. One thing is for sure, though: all those good things that I mentioned above can never be taken away from me, because they're now a part of me, and for that I'm a better person, and thus in turn I'm a very thankful person.
To all my friends from the project, thanks! and please keep in touch!
The warning signs had been there. We had one huge, seemingly neverending assignment that kept us mind-numbingly busy for nearly three weeks. Everyone wondered what, if anything, could possibly be on the other end of this assignment. There were rumors and speculation that the project would end once we got through all these documents. Trying to maintain my sense of optimism, I shut my ears off to what I interpreted as the annoying pessimism of unsubstantiated rumors. In the end, I was wrong. And I have to say that the gossipers seemed to barely veil their happiness when they found out that I was wrong -- but at what cost, I asked myself: we've all lost our jobs! Talk about a Pyrrhic victory.
There are a lot of great things that I took away from this job. First and foremost, I'm so grateful to have met so many nice people that I now consider friends. If there was one major thing, besides a girlfriend, that my life was missing here in Philadelphia, it's a circle of friends that live locally, especially within Center City. I think I can say that I have that now, and I'm very happy for it. I truly hope that I can do my part to maintain these friendships.
Secondly, I'm happy to report that I was able to do some things financially -- as a result of the project -- that I could have only dreamed of a year ago while I was waiting for the results of the bar exam. Among these, I have to be most grateful for being afforded the opportunity to catch up on all my rent and bills, of which I was at least two months behind at the time the project began. Along these lines, I'm very thankful that I was able to save up a significant rainy-day fund, which I knew would provide security for the inevitable period of unemployment and any other period of financial instability or emergency.
Thirdly, but directly on the tail of the financial benefits of the job, I'm so happy to have been afforded the chance to travel -- one of my great loves of life. Earlier this year, due to the flexibility of the job and the money that I was able to earn and save from it, I was able to travel to Egypt, Germany, and for one afternoon, the Netherlands. And not only that, but in less than two months time, I will be traveling to southeast Asia, hopefully to Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. These incredible experiences -- of which so few people in this world are able to enjoy -- are a direct benefit of my employment at the project. For this I feel truly blessed.
The ending of project was certainly bittersweet. During the last couple hours of work today, many of us exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. And at the very end of the day, there were lots of hugs. It was really nice, and I don't take for granted the camaraderie and genuine feelings that were expressed in those hugs and warm handshakes. Towards the end of the day, the project lead, Lakisha, stood up to say a few words in recognition of the friendliness exhibited on the project and the fact that so many people, in her words, "gelled" on this project like no other that she has ever been on. I thought that was a very classy move on her part to say those nice things and it meant a lot to me that she said that.
But, all things must come to an end, and so it goes for this project. As one door closes, so shall another door open. It's just a matter of getting my bearings so that I can locate this next door. One thing is for sure, though: all those good things that I mentioned above can never be taken away from me, because they're now a part of me, and for that I'm a better person, and thus in turn I'm a very thankful person.
To all my friends from the project, thanks! and please keep in touch!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
"I like my sugar with coffee and cream"
That's a line from the Beastie Boys' song, "Intergalactic," off of their album Hello Nasty. And that line reminds me of something that happened earlier today.
As I often do, I went out for a late morning walk across Arch Street and down through the concourse and food court of the Comcast Center, which connects underground to Suburban Station. And like many train stations, there are plenty of places to go for a quick meal or a snack. Or in my case, for my morning coffee.
So I get to Dunkin Donuts and step up to place my order with the young woman standing behind the register. I say, "medium coffee, with sugar, no cream." So she turns to an older man who is standing right, and I mean right, next to her, and she says, "medium coffee, with sugar, little cream." So I speak up and say, "No, no: no cream, just sugar." But behind the counter and out of my line of sight, the guy must've poured some cream into a cup, because the girl says to him, "no cream." So the guy tosses the cup in his hand and grabs a new, second cup and begins to pour out some coffee. But I say right then, jokingly, as if to reaffirm what the girl has said: "just sugar, no cream, no coffee." As soon as I say that, the guy begins to move as if he will pour out the contents of this second cup and then grab a third, new cup. But I say, "no, no, I'm just joking, I want coffee with my sugar." And both the girl and the guy look at me stone-faced, clearly not understanding what the heck I was talking about, probably being accustomed to customers either tired or rushed to catch a train, and not really used to any attempt at humor, especially the hard-to-detect, dry-and-sarcastic kind.
Needless to say, I got back to the office with my coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar. And no cream.
As I often do, I went out for a late morning walk across Arch Street and down through the concourse and food court of the Comcast Center, which connects underground to Suburban Station. And like many train stations, there are plenty of places to go for a quick meal or a snack. Or in my case, for my morning coffee.
So I get to Dunkin Donuts and step up to place my order with the young woman standing behind the register. I say, "medium coffee, with sugar, no cream." So she turns to an older man who is standing right, and I mean right, next to her, and she says, "medium coffee, with sugar, little cream." So I speak up and say, "No, no: no cream, just sugar." But behind the counter and out of my line of sight, the guy must've poured some cream into a cup, because the girl says to him, "no cream." So the guy tosses the cup in his hand and grabs a new, second cup and begins to pour out some coffee. But I say right then, jokingly, as if to reaffirm what the girl has said: "just sugar, no cream, no coffee." As soon as I say that, the guy begins to move as if he will pour out the contents of this second cup and then grab a third, new cup. But I say, "no, no, I'm just joking, I want coffee with my sugar." And both the girl and the guy look at me stone-faced, clearly not understanding what the heck I was talking about, probably being accustomed to customers either tired or rushed to catch a train, and not really used to any attempt at humor, especially the hard-to-detect, dry-and-sarcastic kind.
Needless to say, I got back to the office with my coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar. And no cream.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Need Change?
I was walking down Walnut Street earlier today. On the southern side of the 1400 block (between Broad and 15th Streets) and between Lush and the Bank of America ATM, there was a group of three modern-day hobos, i.e. train-hoppers, the color of brown from head to toe: clothes, skin, hair, and all. I'm not saying that they were of African descent; no, by all outward appearances, they were almost certainly of European descent. I'm merely saying that they were totally brown, kinda like Pigpen from The Peanuts.
Well, of these three hobos, the one sitting in the middle was young and healthy-looking. He was holding a sign that read: "I'm like Obama. I want change." Pretty good pun, huh? I got a good laugh from that one.
Well, of these three hobos, the one sitting in the middle was young and healthy-looking. He was holding a sign that read: "I'm like Obama. I want change." Pretty good pun, huh? I got a good laugh from that one.
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Chairman says...
Just about every night now I'm tuning in to the Olympics. And every night, right around the 9 o'clock hour, they check in with Bob Costas at the "International Broadcasting Booth." They have him sitting at this desk, with a shot of Tiananmen Square in the background, and over his left shoulder (on our, the viewers', right-hand side) is a clear shot of the larger-than-life portrait of Mao Tse-Tung hanging from the Tiananmen Gate. This got me to thinking about a book that I read three summers ago, during my first summer of law school. The book: "On Guerrilla Warfare" by Mao Tse-Tung.
In the spirit of intercultural exchange, engendered and inspired by the Beijing Olympics, let me offer you some quotes from that book:
Despite the brevity of the book, one is struck with the simple power of Mao's thinking. And as a result, one is left to understand how Mao continues to convey such influence, even authority, over China -- its government, society, and its people -- and at a more basic level, why you and I saw his face looking at us from the exterior wall of the Gate of Heavenly Peace into our living rooms over the course of these 2008 Olympics.
In the spirit of intercultural exchange, engendered and inspired by the Beijing Olympics, let me offer you some quotes from that book:
Political power comes out of the barrel of a gun.The book clearly demonstrates -- in its 114 pages (which are really less, since the first 40 pages are a scholar's introduction) -- that Mao was a pragmatic politician who understood the basic principles of politics, which necessarily included a seemingly instinctual, yet well-thought-out and logical, understanding of the masses and the practical need for concentrated, mobile military action to harass the establishment's armed forces in the campaign to gain popular appeal, and thus political strength.
The first law of war is to preserve ourselves and destroy the enemy.
Historical experience is written in blood and iron.
Without a political goal, guerrilla warfare must fail, as it must if its political objectives do not coincide with the aspirations of the people and their sympathy, cooperation, and assistance cannot be gained. The essence of guerrilla warfare is thus revolutionary in character.
Evil does not exist in guerrilla warfare but only in the unorganized and undisciplined activities that are anarchism -- Mao quoting Lenin.
Guerrilla warfare is the primary war strategy of a people seeking to emancipate itself -- Mao quoting Chang Tso Hua.
Guerrilla strategy is the only strategy possible for an oppressed people -- Mao quoting Kao Kang.
The people must be inspired to cooperate voluntarily. We must not force them, for if we do, it will be ineffectual.
Military action is a method used to attain a political goal. While military affairs and political affairs are not identical, it is impossible to isolate one from the other.
We further our mission of destroying the enemy by propagandizing his troops, by treating his captured soldiers with consideration, and by caring for those of his wounded who fall into our hands. If we fail in these respects, we strengthen the solidarity of our enemy.
[T]he fundamental axiom of combat on which all military action is based [. . . : c]onservation of one's own strength; destruction of enemy strength.
In all battles and wars, a struggle to gain and retain the initiative goes on between the opposing sides, for it is the side that holds the initiative that has the liberty of action. When an army loses the initiative, it loses its liberty; its role becomes passive; it faces the danger of defeat and destruction.
Despite the brevity of the book, one is struck with the simple power of Mao's thinking. And as a result, one is left to understand how Mao continues to convey such influence, even authority, over China -- its government, society, and its people -- and at a more basic level, why you and I saw his face looking at us from the exterior wall of the Gate of Heavenly Peace into our living rooms over the course of these 2008 Olympics.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Noticias
Estimados lectores hispanohablantes:
Este noviembre voy con mi amigo, Paul, al sureste de Asia. Mas especificamente, vamos a intentar a visitar los 4 paises de esa parte del mundo: Tailandia, Laos, Cambodia, y Vietnam.
Estoy emocionado porque esto sera mi primera vez en Asia. Realmente, mi primer toque en Asia sera en Japon porque tengo un cambio de vuelos ("lay-over") en Aeropuerto Narita, que es el aeropuerto de Tokio. De ahi, voy y llego en Bangkok, la capital de Tailandia.
Otro evento mas temprano es el concierto de Tortured Soul, uno de mis grupos favoritos. Haga clic AQUI para visitar el sitio de ellos y escuche unas piezas de Tortured Soul. El concierto es el proximo jueves, en Newark, una ciudad al norte del estado de New Jersey, que queda muy cerca, solo unos kilometros de New York City.
Tortured Soul es un grupo de tres maes: uno en la guitarra baja, otro en el keyboard, y el baterista, quien tambien es el cantante. La musica puede ser clasificada como house o electronica, por el sonido del keyboard. Pero tambien puede ser clasificada como soul, por la voz y la forma de cantar del cantante. En total, es una combinacion que me gusta mucho.
Finalmente, les digo que tengo ganas de ir a un partido de football ("futbol norteamericano") de mi universidad de derecho: Temple University. La universidad esta ubicada en el norte de la ciudad de Philadelphia. Por un acuerdo con el equipo profesional de football aqui en Philadelphia -- los Philadelphia Eagles (Aguilas) -- el equipo de Temple juega todos sus partidos en casa en el estadio profesional de los Eagles. El estadio se llama Lincoln Financial Field, y es uno de los mejores estadios en todo el pais. Fue construido muy recientemente.
En la temporada pasada, el noviembre pasado si me acuerdo bien, yo fui con mi amigo Bill a un partido de los Temple Owls contra los Penn State Nittany Lions, en Lincoln Financial Field. Penn State es mucho, mucho mejor que los Owls, y ellos ganaron. Pero los Owls lucharon hasta el final contra un rival mas fuerte y con mas "armas," es decir, mas jugadores mas atleticos.
El primer partido en casa de los Temple Owls es el 6 de septiembre. Quiero aprovechar de ver un partido en Lincoln Financial Field, sin pagar tanto como ir a un partido de los Philadelphia Eagles. Y a la misma vez, quiero apoyar mi universidad, la universidad donde estudie derecho.
Bueno, ticos, nicas, boricuas, y cualquier Fulano de Tal, espero que todo este bien con ustedes. Espero que sigan visitando mi sitio aunque sea casi siempre escrito en ingles. Y finalmente, espero que todo este PURA VIDA, MAE!!!
Este noviembre voy con mi amigo, Paul, al sureste de Asia. Mas especificamente, vamos a intentar a visitar los 4 paises de esa parte del mundo: Tailandia, Laos, Cambodia, y Vietnam.
Estoy emocionado porque esto sera mi primera vez en Asia. Realmente, mi primer toque en Asia sera en Japon porque tengo un cambio de vuelos ("lay-over") en Aeropuerto Narita, que es el aeropuerto de Tokio. De ahi, voy y llego en Bangkok, la capital de Tailandia.
Otro evento mas temprano es el concierto de Tortured Soul, uno de mis grupos favoritos. Haga clic AQUI para visitar el sitio de ellos y escuche unas piezas de Tortured Soul. El concierto es el proximo jueves, en Newark, una ciudad al norte del estado de New Jersey, que queda muy cerca, solo unos kilometros de New York City.
Tortured Soul es un grupo de tres maes: uno en la guitarra baja, otro en el keyboard, y el baterista, quien tambien es el cantante. La musica puede ser clasificada como house o electronica, por el sonido del keyboard. Pero tambien puede ser clasificada como soul, por la voz y la forma de cantar del cantante. En total, es una combinacion que me gusta mucho.
Finalmente, les digo que tengo ganas de ir a un partido de football ("futbol norteamericano") de mi universidad de derecho: Temple University. La universidad esta ubicada en el norte de la ciudad de Philadelphia. Por un acuerdo con el equipo profesional de football aqui en Philadelphia -- los Philadelphia Eagles (Aguilas) -- el equipo de Temple juega todos sus partidos en casa en el estadio profesional de los Eagles. El estadio se llama Lincoln Financial Field, y es uno de los mejores estadios en todo el pais. Fue construido muy recientemente.
En la temporada pasada, el noviembre pasado si me acuerdo bien, yo fui con mi amigo Bill a un partido de los Temple Owls contra los Penn State Nittany Lions, en Lincoln Financial Field. Penn State es mucho, mucho mejor que los Owls, y ellos ganaron. Pero los Owls lucharon hasta el final contra un rival mas fuerte y con mas "armas," es decir, mas jugadores mas atleticos.
El primer partido en casa de los Temple Owls es el 6 de septiembre. Quiero aprovechar de ver un partido en Lincoln Financial Field, sin pagar tanto como ir a un partido de los Philadelphia Eagles. Y a la misma vez, quiero apoyar mi universidad, la universidad donde estudie derecho.
Bueno, ticos, nicas, boricuas, y cualquier Fulano de Tal, espero que todo este bien con ustedes. Espero que sigan visitando mi sitio aunque sea casi siempre escrito en ingles. Y finalmente, espero que todo este PURA VIDA, MAE!!!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Doesn't it suck when . . .
. . . you've just gotten out of the shower, feeling all fresh and clean, when you suddenly realize that you have to take a monster shit? And then, during the long, protracted process of taking that monster shit, you seriously debate whether you should get in the shower all over again, in order to re-clean what was just re-dirtied?
I guess you could call that a shitty night.
I guess you could call that a shitty night.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wade to Kobe Dunk
Click HERE to see the Dwyane Wade to Kobe Bryant alley oop from the USA-Greece basketball game in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
How sick was that?
How sick was that?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Women are equals of men -- social conservatives should quit resisting it
Woman-centered, not fetus-centered
In the United States, the debate around abortion has been tactically centered -- intentionally -- around the concept of the fetus. That is to say that not only all discussion, but more importantly, all thought and consideration of abortion begins with the fetus as the protagonist and the anchor around which any debate begins and develops. This 'framing of the issue' -- strategic as it is -- is meant to distract most people from the real protagonist: the woman who has become pregnant.
The effect of this tactical shift from woman-centered to fetus-centered analysis is noted in the book, "Backlash," by Susan Faludi: "[a]s the fetus's rights increased, the mother's just kept diminishing." (p. 432). The end result of this intentional tactical shift by social conservatives from woman-centered to fetus-centered discussion was that, "by the close of the '80s, a fetus actually had more legal rights in some areas than a live child." (p. 430).
Liberty for all, not control by some over others
A woman's right to decide whether or not to abort her pregnancy -- and her concomitant rights to 1) professional medical advice to inform her decision and 2) professional medical services to care for her in the event that she does decide to abort her pregnancy -- are inextricably tied to the concepts of sexual independence and reproductive freedom.
Sexual independence is a facet of the American idea of liberty; sexual independence is personal liberty within the realm of sexual behavior. This means that women have the same scope of sexual freedom allowed men, and that either gender is free to make decisions regarding their sexual behavior without an obligation to consult the opposite gender. As this relates to abortion, as it is presently considered in the United States, this necessarily demands the elimination of the primacy of male family control. And in basic terms, it is important to keep in mind that control is the antithesis of freedom.
Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion
Those who are pro-choice can be described as those who are in favor of abortion rights, which does not mean that they are proponents of abortion. This is a critical distinction which many social conservatives would prefer to blur; it is a critical distinction which Angela Y. Davis points out in her book, "Women, Race & Class," on page 204.
Reproductive freedom, not reproductive control
From "Women, Race & Class", page 202, by Angela Y. Davis:
Legal analysis of abortion: Roe v. Wade
Any time I hear or read anything from an anti-abortion/anti-reproductive rights proponent about Roe, I wonder to myself whether they have ever read the actual Supreme Court opinion. This is only my own personal presumption, but I would presume that the answer is 'no.' I have a feeling that many of these proponents believe that the court opinion is simply the length of a short paragraph, something like: "Abortion is legal because we say so. We can easily change our opinion later if you elect a Republican president though. Thanks, the Supreme Court."
From "Backlash", regarding Roe: "[t]he landmark ruling is simply a return to status quo. The right to an abortion -- practiced in one form or another since colonial times -- had never been restricted until the last half of the late 19th century." (p. 421). In fact, "[i]n 1800, abortion was legal in every state and popular opinion on it largely neutral." (p. 422).
The fetus-centered analysis, mentioned above and which comprises today's popular opinion, however, is in sharp contrast to the logical consideration of the U.S. Supreme Court, a consideration all the more important because it carries legal force and authority. The Court has unequivocally ruled that "a woman's life and health must always prevail over the fetus's life and health, direct quote 439 U.S. 379, 400." (quoted in Backlash, p. 444). Furthermore, "[t]he courts have long held that parents cannot be compelled to take actions to benefit their children's health." (p. 440). Nevertheless, the weight of popular opinion -- to which the courts are subject to influence being that they are made up of real people -- led to a deterioration of that position; from Backlash: "[b]ut when it came down to a choice between the health of the mother and the rights of the fetus, the fetus began to win out." (p. 440).
The moral of this story:
"All of women's aspirations -- whether for education, work, or any form of self-determination -- ultimately rests on their ability to decide whether and when to bear children. For this reason, reproductive freedom has always been the most popular item in each of the successive feminist agendas -- and the most heavily assaulted target of each backlash." (Backlash, p. 422).
In the United States, the debate around abortion has been tactically centered -- intentionally -- around the concept of the fetus. That is to say that not only all discussion, but more importantly, all thought and consideration of abortion begins with the fetus as the protagonist and the anchor around which any debate begins and develops. This 'framing of the issue' -- strategic as it is -- is meant to distract most people from the real protagonist: the woman who has become pregnant.
The effect of this tactical shift from woman-centered to fetus-centered analysis is noted in the book, "Backlash," by Susan Faludi: "[a]s the fetus's rights increased, the mother's just kept diminishing." (p. 432). The end result of this intentional tactical shift by social conservatives from woman-centered to fetus-centered discussion was that, "by the close of the '80s, a fetus actually had more legal rights in some areas than a live child." (p. 430).
Liberty for all, not control by some over others
A woman's right to decide whether or not to abort her pregnancy -- and her concomitant rights to 1) professional medical advice to inform her decision and 2) professional medical services to care for her in the event that she does decide to abort her pregnancy -- are inextricably tied to the concepts of sexual independence and reproductive freedom.
Sexual independence is a facet of the American idea of liberty; sexual independence is personal liberty within the realm of sexual behavior. This means that women have the same scope of sexual freedom allowed men, and that either gender is free to make decisions regarding their sexual behavior without an obligation to consult the opposite gender. As this relates to abortion, as it is presently considered in the United States, this necessarily demands the elimination of the primacy of male family control. And in basic terms, it is important to keep in mind that control is the antithesis of freedom.
Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion
Those who are pro-choice can be described as those who are in favor of abortion rights, which does not mean that they are proponents of abortion. This is a critical distinction which many social conservatives would prefer to blur; it is a critical distinction which Angela Y. Davis points out in her book, "Women, Race & Class," on page 204.
Reproductive freedom, not reproductive control
From "Women, Race & Class", page 202, by Angela Y. Davis:
When nineteenth-century feminists raised the demand for "voluntary motherhood," the campaign for birth control was born.
"Voluntary motherhood" was considered audacious, outrageous and outlandish by those who insisted that wives had no right to refuse to satisfy their husbands' sexual urges.
Birth control -- individual choice, safe contraceptive methods, as well as abortions when necessary -- is a fundamental prerequisite for the emancipation of women.
Legal analysis of abortion: Roe v. Wade
Any time I hear or read anything from an anti-abortion/anti-reproductive rights proponent about Roe, I wonder to myself whether they have ever read the actual Supreme Court opinion. This is only my own personal presumption, but I would presume that the answer is 'no.' I have a feeling that many of these proponents believe that the court opinion is simply the length of a short paragraph, something like: "Abortion is legal because we say so. We can easily change our opinion later if you elect a Republican president though. Thanks, the Supreme Court."
From "Backlash", regarding Roe: "[t]he landmark ruling is simply a return to status quo. The right to an abortion -- practiced in one form or another since colonial times -- had never been restricted until the last half of the late 19th century." (p. 421). In fact, "[i]n 1800, abortion was legal in every state and popular opinion on it largely neutral." (p. 422).
The fetus-centered analysis, mentioned above and which comprises today's popular opinion, however, is in sharp contrast to the logical consideration of the U.S. Supreme Court, a consideration all the more important because it carries legal force and authority. The Court has unequivocally ruled that "a woman's life and health must always prevail over the fetus's life and health, direct quote 439 U.S. 379, 400." (quoted in Backlash, p. 444). Furthermore, "[t]he courts have long held that parents cannot be compelled to take actions to benefit their children's health." (p. 440). Nevertheless, the weight of popular opinion -- to which the courts are subject to influence being that they are made up of real people -- led to a deterioration of that position; from Backlash: "[b]ut when it came down to a choice between the health of the mother and the rights of the fetus, the fetus began to win out." (p. 440).
The moral of this story:
"All of women's aspirations -- whether for education, work, or any form of self-determination -- ultimately rests on their ability to decide whether and when to bear children. For this reason, reproductive freedom has always been the most popular item in each of the successive feminist agendas -- and the most heavily assaulted target of each backlash." (Backlash, p. 422).
Monday, August 11, 2008
Doesn't it suck when...
. . . you've just wiped your ass and you realize that you must've been careless in folding the toilet paper because you also realize that you actually wiped your asshole through direct contact with your finger(s)?
I guess you could call that a shitty day.
I guess you could call that a shitty day.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The Redeem Team
Just finished watching the USA men's basketball team, a/k/a "the Redeem Team," win their first Olympic game against the men's national team from China. It has been said that this was the most-watched game in the history of basketball. And I set my alarm and woke up this morning with the express purpose of watching this game.
And what a game it was! The first half was a nail-biter; I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat, as China hit 3-point shot after 3-point shot, and the Redeem Team kept in the game with solid interior defense and athletic play on the offensive end. And even sitting by myself in my apartment at the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I could just feel the intensity and excitement through the television screen. The game really had the electricity of an NBA finals game 7.
In the second half, Team USA pulled away from China by relentlessly applying pressure defense, oftentimes leading to steals or defensive rebounds off of bad shots, and by pushing the ball up the court in order to take advantage of its greater speed, athleticism, and deeper bench. For me, the most exciting aspect of the game was seeing the NBA's three most dynamic and athletic scorers (with the possible exception of Iverson) on the court at the same time and playing with notable chemistry and selflessless; the three stars, of course: Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Dywayne Wade. All 3 looked fast, strong, and sharp, as individuals and as teammates.
There were so many amazing plays. But the one that stood out to me as totally sick was a fast-break where Kobe was handling the ball, and just after he crossed the elbow on the right-wing, he flipped the ball up in the air with his left hand, and LeBron elevated over a Chinese player, and simultaneously grabbed the ball in mid-air with his right hand and, in one decisive motion, slammed the ball through -- and I mean through -- the hoop, with the Chinese player still standing on the floor beneath him. Let me tell you: It. Was. Sick. After that play, the screen flashed to a shot of President Bush in the stands, and he looked thoroughly impressed.
This was the first time that I'd had a chance to see the Redeem Team play. I was happy to see how well they played together, even while I can see that they have some room for improvement. But, all in all, I can definitely say that that game made me proud to be from the United States, undoubtedly still the world's most dominant country in basketball.
And what a game it was! The first half was a nail-biter; I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat, as China hit 3-point shot after 3-point shot, and the Redeem Team kept in the game with solid interior defense and athletic play on the offensive end. And even sitting by myself in my apartment at the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I could just feel the intensity and excitement through the television screen. The game really had the electricity of an NBA finals game 7.
In the second half, Team USA pulled away from China by relentlessly applying pressure defense, oftentimes leading to steals or defensive rebounds off of bad shots, and by pushing the ball up the court in order to take advantage of its greater speed, athleticism, and deeper bench. For me, the most exciting aspect of the game was seeing the NBA's three most dynamic and athletic scorers (with the possible exception of Iverson) on the court at the same time and playing with notable chemistry and selflessless; the three stars, of course: Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Dywayne Wade. All 3 looked fast, strong, and sharp, as individuals and as teammates.
There were so many amazing plays. But the one that stood out to me as totally sick was a fast-break where Kobe was handling the ball, and just after he crossed the elbow on the right-wing, he flipped the ball up in the air with his left hand, and LeBron elevated over a Chinese player, and simultaneously grabbed the ball in mid-air with his right hand and, in one decisive motion, slammed the ball through -- and I mean through -- the hoop, with the Chinese player still standing on the floor beneath him. Let me tell you: It. Was. Sick. After that play, the screen flashed to a shot of President Bush in the stands, and he looked thoroughly impressed.
This was the first time that I'd had a chance to see the Redeem Team play. I was happy to see how well they played together, even while I can see that they have some room for improvement. But, all in all, I can definitely say that that game made me proud to be from the United States, undoubtedly still the world's most dominant country in basketball.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
From the Gayborhood to Dubai
I watched the Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics last night. I had decided that I wouldn't go out to meet my friends until I watched the delegations from the United States and Costa Rica walk into the Bird's Nest during the Parade of Nations. Throughout the procession I cooked and then ate dinner: pasta shells with roasted garlic spaghetti sauce and two, chopped roasted garlic Italian sausages.
Once the CR delegation came into the stadium, I got ready to head out. In honor of Team USA and the start of the Beijing Olympics, I wore my red-white-and-blue Nike Prefontaine sneakers and my gray t-shirt with the G.I. Joe insignia, including the red-white-and-blue striped box next to the subtitle, "A Real American Hero."
From the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I walked straight down Spruce Street to Valanni's, a restaurant just below 13th Street. I went there first because the text that I had received from Park a little bit more than an hour earlier said that the group was there. So I walked in and looked around; I didn't recognize anyone there. As I walked out, I looked at my phone, noticed a missed call, and was about to check my voicemail, when I simply looked across the street and saw the gang seated at an outdoor table in front of Mercato. So I walked over briskly, wet my right pinky finger, and with the all-important element of surprise, gave Park a wet willy.
I sat down with the bunch there while everyone finished off their food. I had a couple glasses of wine and a few nibbles of dessert. It's important to note here that the reason that everyone gathered for a night on the town was the imminent departure of our friend, Park, who is set to relocate to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, just this coming Monday. Our night out was a chance to have some fun before he takes off, and to let him know that we're gonna miss him.
Everyone else having finished off their food and the 5 bottles of wine that they BYOB'ed, we gathered up the troops to hit the town. We walked down Camac Street all the way over to Walnut Street, until doubling back half a block down Quince Street between 12th and 11th to go to a practically unmarked bar called the Bike Stop -- a bar which, unknown to me, is apparently renowned in the Gayborhood.
The Bike Stop could've been a bar out in the exurbs for all appearances -- it was very dimly-lit, it was filled with a bunch of biker-looking dudes, it had a pool table on a raised platform on the far side of the bar, and there was classic rock music from the 1980s. But once your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realized that the appearances revealed the bar's Gayborhood nature -- some guys were shirtless, either with or without leather suspenders, and there was not one lone woman inside the place (until we showed up with 3).
Park had explained to me that the basement of the Bike Stop was a destination in its own right; the word was that it was filled with gay guys four rows deep in total darkness and that you would have to grope your way through sweaty bodies to get to the bar. Of course once we got to the Bike Stop, I asked Park which way to the famed basement to find out if the basement was really as intimidating as its reputation indicated. Before walking down the stairs, Park noticed the sign that said "no cologne and no sneakers allowed"; neither one of us could quite figure out why those two things were prohibited. And despite the fact that I was wearing my bold tricolor sneakers, we went down anyway. So what did we see? To be honest, it really reminded me of the basement of the house I lived in on Water Street during my senior year of college: dank, dark, and cement-exposed walls. It was not, however, totally dark, nor did we have to touch anybody to get around. Other than the very strange, inexplicable feeling that all these quiet men were lined up around the cement wall waiting for some kind of performance to take place, and that there were only men down there, it wasn't weird at all.
Needless to say, we didn't stay down there too long. Park's girlfriend had come down just a couple minutes after us, and after milling down there for a few minutes, we decided to go back upstairs to play pool. The group of us played for about an hour or so. The table that we played on was so terribly slanted toward one corner that it made for some miserable games; it was funny at first, but by the end it was annoying.
So we left there around 1:30 and went directly to Knock. It was a very nice place; I was told that this is a prime location for gay professionals to meet. We all stood around and chatted for a while. But the real story there doesn't begin until right before we left, at about 2:30.
From what I understand, Park had ordered a glass of wine during last call right at 2:00am. He paid for it and may have had a couple sips of it; the glass of wine was sittting on the bar. In the bartender's haste to clean up after closing, however, he accidentally cleared Park's glass of wine. Partly because Park had paid for the wine and had not finished, but also, I suspect, because Park wanted to make a point of having his glass of wine on his last night out in Philly before his grand trip, he demanded another glass of wine to replace the one that had been taken. The bartender poured him another glass, but at that point, the owner came around to find out why a patron could be demanding any alcohol a half-hour past last call. Park had little patience (or sobriety) to explain the whole story, and the owner was put-off, saying that it was against the law to serve alcohol past 2am. So Eric steps up and says to the owner, "We are the law." And James, sensing the tension -- and obviously not knowing to whom he was speaking -- says to the owner, "Hey buddy, why don't you beat it." Right then, I walked out of the bar to meet up with the other half of our group, who were already waiting outside on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, and fortunately, things inside simmered down and the misunderstanding was cleared up -- Park downed his whole glass of wine and the three guys came right out to meet us on the sidewalk. Crisis had been averted.
Without belaboring the details, I'll say simply that we all said our good-byes and best-wishes to Park. His flight to Dubai leaves on Monday. He intends to begin a blog once he gets there; of course I'll post the link.
From the corner of 12th and Locust, four of us -- Eric, Alex, James, and me -- walked west up Locust, since we all live in the general Rittenhouse Square area. For the first couple blocks of our late night walk we saw several trannies walking the streets in search of business. Immediately after crossing Broad Street, I saw two girls and a guy up ahead, so right before we passed them, I said, "look, here are a couple more trannies;" the look on the girls' faces was one of pure indignity, but the four of us laughed our asses off. Then, on the 1500 block of Locust, as we approached Misconduct Tavern in fact, I saw that there was a chain-link chain hanging across part of the sidewalk. So I kept talking to the guys, pretending that I wasn't looking ahead, and purposely ran into the chain, feigning surprise and pain; we all laughed our asses off some more before going our separate ways.
Once the CR delegation came into the stadium, I got ready to head out. In honor of Team USA and the start of the Beijing Olympics, I wore my red-white-and-blue Nike Prefontaine sneakers and my gray t-shirt with the G.I. Joe insignia, including the red-white-and-blue striped box next to the subtitle, "A Real American Hero."
From the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I walked straight down Spruce Street to Valanni's, a restaurant just below 13th Street. I went there first because the text that I had received from Park a little bit more than an hour earlier said that the group was there. So I walked in and looked around; I didn't recognize anyone there. As I walked out, I looked at my phone, noticed a missed call, and was about to check my voicemail, when I simply looked across the street and saw the gang seated at an outdoor table in front of Mercato. So I walked over briskly, wet my right pinky finger, and with the all-important element of surprise, gave Park a wet willy.
I sat down with the bunch there while everyone finished off their food. I had a couple glasses of wine and a few nibbles of dessert. It's important to note here that the reason that everyone gathered for a night on the town was the imminent departure of our friend, Park, who is set to relocate to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, just this coming Monday. Our night out was a chance to have some fun before he takes off, and to let him know that we're gonna miss him.
Everyone else having finished off their food and the 5 bottles of wine that they BYOB'ed, we gathered up the troops to hit the town. We walked down Camac Street all the way over to Walnut Street, until doubling back half a block down Quince Street between 12th and 11th to go to a practically unmarked bar called the Bike Stop -- a bar which, unknown to me, is apparently renowned in the Gayborhood.
The Bike Stop could've been a bar out in the exurbs for all appearances -- it was very dimly-lit, it was filled with a bunch of biker-looking dudes, it had a pool table on a raised platform on the far side of the bar, and there was classic rock music from the 1980s. But once your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realized that the appearances revealed the bar's Gayborhood nature -- some guys were shirtless, either with or without leather suspenders, and there was not one lone woman inside the place (until we showed up with 3).
Park had explained to me that the basement of the Bike Stop was a destination in its own right; the word was that it was filled with gay guys four rows deep in total darkness and that you would have to grope your way through sweaty bodies to get to the bar. Of course once we got to the Bike Stop, I asked Park which way to the famed basement to find out if the basement was really as intimidating as its reputation indicated. Before walking down the stairs, Park noticed the sign that said "no cologne and no sneakers allowed"; neither one of us could quite figure out why those two things were prohibited. And despite the fact that I was wearing my bold tricolor sneakers, we went down anyway. So what did we see? To be honest, it really reminded me of the basement of the house I lived in on Water Street during my senior year of college: dank, dark, and cement-exposed walls. It was not, however, totally dark, nor did we have to touch anybody to get around. Other than the very strange, inexplicable feeling that all these quiet men were lined up around the cement wall waiting for some kind of performance to take place, and that there were only men down there, it wasn't weird at all.
Needless to say, we didn't stay down there too long. Park's girlfriend had come down just a couple minutes after us, and after milling down there for a few minutes, we decided to go back upstairs to play pool. The group of us played for about an hour or so. The table that we played on was so terribly slanted toward one corner that it made for some miserable games; it was funny at first, but by the end it was annoying.
So we left there around 1:30 and went directly to Knock. It was a very nice place; I was told that this is a prime location for gay professionals to meet. We all stood around and chatted for a while. But the real story there doesn't begin until right before we left, at about 2:30.
From what I understand, Park had ordered a glass of wine during last call right at 2:00am. He paid for it and may have had a couple sips of it; the glass of wine was sittting on the bar. In the bartender's haste to clean up after closing, however, he accidentally cleared Park's glass of wine. Partly because Park had paid for the wine and had not finished, but also, I suspect, because Park wanted to make a point of having his glass of wine on his last night out in Philly before his grand trip, he demanded another glass of wine to replace the one that had been taken. The bartender poured him another glass, but at that point, the owner came around to find out why a patron could be demanding any alcohol a half-hour past last call. Park had little patience (or sobriety) to explain the whole story, and the owner was put-off, saying that it was against the law to serve alcohol past 2am. So Eric steps up and says to the owner, "We are the law." And James, sensing the tension -- and obviously not knowing to whom he was speaking -- says to the owner, "Hey buddy, why don't you beat it." Right then, I walked out of the bar to meet up with the other half of our group, who were already waiting outside on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, and fortunately, things inside simmered down and the misunderstanding was cleared up -- Park downed his whole glass of wine and the three guys came right out to meet us on the sidewalk. Crisis had been averted.
Without belaboring the details, I'll say simply that we all said our good-byes and best-wishes to Park. His flight to Dubai leaves on Monday. He intends to begin a blog once he gets there; of course I'll post the link.
From the corner of 12th and Locust, four of us -- Eric, Alex, James, and me -- walked west up Locust, since we all live in the general Rittenhouse Square area. For the first couple blocks of our late night walk we saw several trannies walking the streets in search of business. Immediately after crossing Broad Street, I saw two girls and a guy up ahead, so right before we passed them, I said, "look, here are a couple more trannies;" the look on the girls' faces was one of pure indignity, but the four of us laughed our asses off. Then, on the 1500 block of Locust, as we approached Misconduct Tavern in fact, I saw that there was a chain-link chain hanging across part of the sidewalk. So I kept talking to the guys, pretending that I wasn't looking ahead, and purposely ran into the chain, feigning surprise and pain; we all laughed our asses off some more before going our separate ways.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Notes from the Underground
It's 8pm on 8/8/08, and I ate a date that tasted great, but that shouldn't affect my weight of 88 kilos, or the fact that I hate hate (but I guess that means that I do hate, then, right?). But wait, do two wrongs make a right, or shall I state: do two hates make a great? My pate now grates from this constant state of contemplate. Hey mate, at least it's still 8/8/08.
"The gull sees farthest who flies highest." -- from Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.
"Apuntale a la luna, aun si fallas alcanzaras las estrellas." -- from a Johnny Walker billboard along the road from San Jose to Limon, in Costa Rica, 2002
That last quote gives me occasion to remind you, kind reader, to click the link on the blog archive to your izquierda for 2002 entries. I've been adding them steadily, transcribing them from the journal that I kept during that time.
The Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics will be televised shortly, after which I'll be going out with some friends later tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.
"The gull sees farthest who flies highest." -- from Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.
"Apuntale a la luna, aun si fallas alcanzaras las estrellas." -- from a Johnny Walker billboard along the road from San Jose to Limon, in Costa Rica, 2002
That last quote gives me occasion to remind you, kind reader, to click the link on the blog archive to your izquierda for 2002 entries. I've been adding them steadily, transcribing them from the journal that I kept during that time.
The Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics will be televised shortly, after which I'll be going out with some friends later tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Double-Deuce & Spruce
Many of you have been hearing this term used more and more across the city of Philadelphia. And many of you have been thinking that you would like to use this term too. But you want to find out more about it before you start using it like a native "two-fifteener" (another hot buzzword these days). Well, of course you can count on Philly 215 to help you out; so here you go:
The "Double-Deuce & Spruce" refers to one of today's hottest (and, not coincidentally, one of the most important) intersections in the city of Philadelphia. It is rumored that, if one stands in the mathematical, pinpoint center of that famed intersection, one can hear the whispers of the illustrious Benjamin Franklin, one of our city's and one of our nation's greatest forefathers. And this intersection of which we speak can be located by truthseekers and pilgrims alike by picking apart and analyzing the buzzword itself: "Double-Deuce" is a slang, hip, streetspeak version of what proper grammarians refer to as 22nd Street, and "Spruce" is a rather straight-as-an-arrow, clear-as-Philly-tapwater version of what the bourgeoisie calls Spruce Street.
Now that you understand what "Double-Deuce & Spruce" represents (at least in theory, but not necessarily in practice -- for that you have to live near the epicenter itself), go on with your bad self and spread the good word. And by doing that, you'll be that much closer to being a "two-fifteener," which in turn is defined as a veritable resident of Philadelphia, the connotation being that you are strongly in favor of taking this city boldly into the 21st century by supporting everything and everyone that promotes -- as it has been dubbed by National Geographic Magazine -- "America's Next Great City."
The "Double-Deuce & Spruce" refers to one of today's hottest (and, not coincidentally, one of the most important) intersections in the city of Philadelphia. It is rumored that, if one stands in the mathematical, pinpoint center of that famed intersection, one can hear the whispers of the illustrious Benjamin Franklin, one of our city's and one of our nation's greatest forefathers. And this intersection of which we speak can be located by truthseekers and pilgrims alike by picking apart and analyzing the buzzword itself: "Double-Deuce" is a slang, hip, streetspeak version of what proper grammarians refer to as 22nd Street, and "Spruce" is a rather straight-as-an-arrow, clear-as-Philly-tapwater version of what the bourgeoisie calls Spruce Street.
Now that you understand what "Double-Deuce & Spruce" represents (at least in theory, but not necessarily in practice -- for that you have to live near the epicenter itself), go on with your bad self and spread the good word. And by doing that, you'll be that much closer to being a "two-fifteener," which in turn is defined as a veritable resident of Philadelphia, the connotation being that you are strongly in favor of taking this city boldly into the 21st century by supporting everything and everyone that promotes -- as it has been dubbed by National Geographic Magazine -- "America's Next Great City."
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Female Genital Cutting in Egypt
I recently read an article on msnbc.com that caught my eye for two reasons: 1) it was about Egypt, a country that I visited earlier this year, and 2) it was about female genital cutting (FGC), a topic about which I wrote a paper in my third year of law school.
The article is entitled, "Effort in Egypt fights against mutilating girls: Genitals cut on 96 percent of married Egyptian women; girls face same fate." Click HERE to access the article.
Now, before I go any further, I have to address the anticipated (properly or not) protest of one of my friends who often visits Egypt and is sometimes highly critical of his Egyptian friends for not being conformist enough to Egyptian (or more accurately, Islamic) practices. If my assumption -- that he supports, or at least condones, female genital cutting -- is incorrect, then I apologize.
If my assumption is correct, though, then consider this, kind reader: FGC is a cultural practice, not a religious (i.e., Muslim or Christian) practice. As the article indicates, both Muslim and Christian religious leaders have spoken out against FGC. Also, the fight against FGC in Egypt is being led by Egyptians: Egypt's parliament in June voted to ban female genital cutting as part of a law protecting children; and last year, the Egyptian Ministry of Health prohibited licensed medical professionals from performing FGC. These measures are not only laudable, but significant, when one considers that Egypt is the country where FGC is most prevalent.
Reading the article reminded me of a paper I wrote for my "Current Issues in Family Law" class in my third year of law school. My paper was more generally about the reluctance of U.S. asylum law to recognize, and thus grant, asylum on the basis of gender-based persecution. Here's an excerpt from a section entitled "Gender-Based Violence: History and Policy":
The article is entitled, "Effort in Egypt fights against mutilating girls: Genitals cut on 96 percent of married Egyptian women; girls face same fate." Click HERE to access the article.
Now, before I go any further, I have to address the anticipated (properly or not) protest of one of my friends who often visits Egypt and is sometimes highly critical of his Egyptian friends for not being conformist enough to Egyptian (or more accurately, Islamic) practices. If my assumption -- that he supports, or at least condones, female genital cutting -- is incorrect, then I apologize.
If my assumption is correct, though, then consider this, kind reader: FGC is a cultural practice, not a religious (i.e., Muslim or Christian) practice. As the article indicates, both Muslim and Christian religious leaders have spoken out against FGC. Also, the fight against FGC in Egypt is being led by Egyptians: Egypt's parliament in June voted to ban female genital cutting as part of a law protecting children; and last year, the Egyptian Ministry of Health prohibited licensed medical professionals from performing FGC. These measures are not only laudable, but significant, when one considers that Egypt is the country where FGC is most prevalent.
Reading the article reminded me of a paper I wrote for my "Current Issues in Family Law" class in my third year of law school. My paper was more generally about the reluctance of U.S. asylum law to recognize, and thus grant, asylum on the basis of gender-based persecution. Here's an excerpt from a section entitled "Gender-Based Violence: History and Policy":
"Family violence has historically been perceived as a private matter. Considered as such, it was inappropriate for the state to get involved because of the doctrine of family privacy. Family violence was rarely conceived of as a social problem, or as having roots in women’s subordinated status in society.And from the section of the paper entitled "The History and Reality of Gender-Based Persecution" comes this excerpt, which mentions FGC:
The historical reality, however, is that violence against women is a manifestation of historically unequal power relations between men and women. Violence against women in general, and domestic violence in particular, serve as essential components in societies which oppress women, since violence against women not only derives from but also maintains the dominant gender stereotypes and is used to control women in the one area traditionally dominated by women, the home.
Victims of gender-related persecution have been largely unable to overcome the cultural stereotypes and gender inequities that pervade asylum law. Although women and children constitute 80% of the estimated twelve million refugees worldwide, the majority of applicants for asylum in the United States are men."
"Perhaps the most pervasive forms of gender persecution are rape and other forms of sexual violence. There are, however, other forms of gender-specific persecution, including cultural and religious traditions inhibiting women’s right to life, liberty and security, such as female genital mutilation, honor killings, dowry deaths, and other traditional practices harmful to women’s and girls’ health. Included in this last category are forced abortion, compulsory sterilization, and forced pregnancy."The bottom line here is that I support efforts to overcome the mystique surrounding certain entrenched cultural practices by exposing their basis in unequal and discriminatory cultural assumptions, as well as exposing the very real harm -- bodily and psychological -- that they pose to its unwilling victims. And so I support these efforts by the Egyptian government -- and the supporting voices of religious leaders -- to end female genital cutting among all Egyptians, Christians and Muslims alike.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Feeling Irie? Jah mon!
One of my good friends, Ethan, recently came back from a vacation (with his wife Christine) to Jamaica. Here's a good story that he passed along, properly quoted at his request and re-printed here with his express, written permission. :)
The word and concept of "irie" reminds me a bit of the unofficial national motto of Costa Rica: "pura vida." Pura vida is literally translated as pure life. But its true meaning is much deeper. Pura vida is used as a greeting, such as saying hi. Pura vida is also used to say what's up. But pura vida ultimately means life is good, everything's chill, I hope you're doing alright and chilling too, so take it easy and go good!
In the spirit of this post, I wish you the very best for a wonderful day. Be irie and pura vida mae!!!
"I got friendly with a bunch of the locals (It was a very [Frank E. Speaks] moment)...they taught me some Patoi (the local slang dialect)...the thing that impressed me was that they have no word for "bad". Whenever you ask anyone how they are doing it is always Irie. Me being Me asked what happens when everything is not Irie...they actually had to think on it for a few mins and couldn't come up with anything. The one guy told me that everything is Irie and even if it isn't, it will be again soon so looking fwd to that moment...everything is Irie."I love this philosophy. It's one that I think we'd all be healthier to adopt. Urbandictionary defines "irie" as being "at total peace with your current state of being. The way you feel when you have no worries."
The word and concept of "irie" reminds me a bit of the unofficial national motto of Costa Rica: "pura vida." Pura vida is literally translated as pure life. But its true meaning is much deeper. Pura vida is used as a greeting, such as saying hi. Pura vida is also used to say what's up. But pura vida ultimately means life is good, everything's chill, I hope you're doing alright and chilling too, so take it easy and go good!
In the spirit of this post, I wish you the very best for a wonderful day. Be irie and pura vida mae!!!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Promise Fulfilled (or, Nine Lives)
Yo people, I told you in my penultimate post that I was gonna fill you in on the happenings of Saturday night. Since I didn't fulfill that promise in my last post, I'm gonna do it now.
I caught the EL to Frankford Transportation Center. I got there a few minutes early, so I just hung out at a bus shelter at the corner where Bustleton and Frankford Avenues intersect with Bridge Street.
After a few minutes, I saw Mike's red pick-up pull up. So I ran across the street and opened the passenger-side door. A guy already in the passenger seat slid over on the bench seat so that I could get in. Mike introduced me to him and vice versa. Then Mike prompted the guy to show me something, so the guy lifted up his t-shirt to show me a shit-load of scars all over his abdomen. As he saw the look on my face, the guy told me that he'd been shot 9 times. He explained that he was shot in broad daylight, around 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, on the street in front of a bar underneath the EL; he was shot for trying to prevent a fight between his friend and some guys whom he didn't know. From what he told me, he tried to put himself between his friend and one of the other guys, in an attempt to prevent the incipient fight, but the other guy interpreted that as him stepping up, and seemingly without any hesitation the other guy pulled out a .45 caliber and fired 9 times into his midsection. People went scrambling in all directions. And though there were police already there, they were somehow unable to catch the shooter. An ambulance came to the scene and one of the EMTs said to this guy, while slapping him across the face, "nigger, you gonna die." Miraculously though, they got him to Temple Hospital, where he was operated upon, and after a week of unconsciousness, woke up to discover that he'd survived.
Simply amazing. And even more so when considered in light of the fact that a few years ago this same guy was involved in a car accident on I-95, which resulted in him being ejected from his seat through the front windshield and thrown across the median into oncoming traffic from the opposite direction. He survived that too. I looked the guy in the face and asked him, "how many lives do you have?"
After Mike dropped off this cat with nine lives, we drove back to our original destination: Casa Brasil. Located at 6222 Bustleton Avenue (not far from the Boulevard), Casa Brasil is a solid, buffet-style, Brazilian restaurant. For those not familiar, Brazilian cuisine (not unlike that of its neighbor, Argentina) is renowned for its fine meats roasted on a spit or rotisserie, called "churrasco." A server will cut the meat as you prefer, anywhere between well-done and medium rare, and with more or less fat. This time I got some pork slices and sausage. On the side, I got yellow rice with black beans, green beans, and a bacon-wrapped drumstick. All of this, and stacked high on my plate, for less than $10. Talk about a solid, all-around healthy, and filling meal.
Post-dinner we stopped back at Mike's place to drop-off the truck, then we caught the 66 bus back down to the FTC to catch the EL into Center City. We went to Mission Grill, at 18th and Arch, for the birthday party of a girlfriend of a guy who Mike is friends with (Kevin Bacon has gotta be involved here somehow, right?). It was a good night; we got a chance to talk to some different people, as well as catch up with each other. And about Mission Grill, I've been there before, and must say that I really, really like the decor: mission-style, very Spanish-colonial California.
So that's about it. I was gonna write some more shit, but this is enough shock and awe for now. Besides, I've gotta go figure out what to do about dinner: I'm thinking eggs with ham, topped with mozzarella cheese, and with a whole wheat bagel on the side, topped with whipped cream cheese. Whaddaya say now, I got the skills to pay the bills!
I caught the EL to Frankford Transportation Center. I got there a few minutes early, so I just hung out at a bus shelter at the corner where Bustleton and Frankford Avenues intersect with Bridge Street.
After a few minutes, I saw Mike's red pick-up pull up. So I ran across the street and opened the passenger-side door. A guy already in the passenger seat slid over on the bench seat so that I could get in. Mike introduced me to him and vice versa. Then Mike prompted the guy to show me something, so the guy lifted up his t-shirt to show me a shit-load of scars all over his abdomen. As he saw the look on my face, the guy told me that he'd been shot 9 times. He explained that he was shot in broad daylight, around 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, on the street in front of a bar underneath the EL; he was shot for trying to prevent a fight between his friend and some guys whom he didn't know. From what he told me, he tried to put himself between his friend and one of the other guys, in an attempt to prevent the incipient fight, but the other guy interpreted that as him stepping up, and seemingly without any hesitation the other guy pulled out a .45 caliber and fired 9 times into his midsection. People went scrambling in all directions. And though there were police already there, they were somehow unable to catch the shooter. An ambulance came to the scene and one of the EMTs said to this guy, while slapping him across the face, "nigger, you gonna die." Miraculously though, they got him to Temple Hospital, where he was operated upon, and after a week of unconsciousness, woke up to discover that he'd survived.
Simply amazing. And even more so when considered in light of the fact that a few years ago this same guy was involved in a car accident on I-95, which resulted in him being ejected from his seat through the front windshield and thrown across the median into oncoming traffic from the opposite direction. He survived that too. I looked the guy in the face and asked him, "how many lives do you have?"
After Mike dropped off this cat with nine lives, we drove back to our original destination: Casa Brasil. Located at 6222 Bustleton Avenue (not far from the Boulevard), Casa Brasil is a solid, buffet-style, Brazilian restaurant. For those not familiar, Brazilian cuisine (not unlike that of its neighbor, Argentina) is renowned for its fine meats roasted on a spit or rotisserie, called "churrasco." A server will cut the meat as you prefer, anywhere between well-done and medium rare, and with more or less fat. This time I got some pork slices and sausage. On the side, I got yellow rice with black beans, green beans, and a bacon-wrapped drumstick. All of this, and stacked high on my plate, for less than $10. Talk about a solid, all-around healthy, and filling meal.
Post-dinner we stopped back at Mike's place to drop-off the truck, then we caught the 66 bus back down to the FTC to catch the EL into Center City. We went to Mission Grill, at 18th and Arch, for the birthday party of a girlfriend of a guy who Mike is friends with (Kevin Bacon has gotta be involved here somehow, right?). It was a good night; we got a chance to talk to some different people, as well as catch up with each other. And about Mission Grill, I've been there before, and must say that I really, really like the decor: mission-style, very Spanish-colonial California.
So that's about it. I was gonna write some more shit, but this is enough shock and awe for now. Besides, I've gotta go figure out what to do about dinner: I'm thinking eggs with ham, topped with mozzarella cheese, and with a whole wheat bagel on the side, topped with whipped cream cheese. Whaddaya say now, I got the skills to pay the bills!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Boring....or the prevalence of sand in my life
Here's what today was: sleeping, eating, laying down on couch, television, 3 loads of laundry, food-shopping, cooking, and now blogging. Well, I guess it was Sunday, my I-don't-have-to-run-day. But that's not such a great citation since it wasn't my fun-day, as the song lyrics indicate.
So what the hell else shall I write about? Lucky for you, I've been thinking about that question for a lil' while. And I have an answer: the prevalence of sand in my life. To illustrate:
Just last Thursday I finished the book "Dune" by Frank Herbert. In case you're not a sci-fi geek, Dune is a landmark science fiction novel. It's about a boy named Paul Atreides who grows up to be the leader of Arrakis, which is a desert planet. Ahhh (light bulb shines brightly over your head): a planet of sand AND thus tied to the theme which I have already noted. Although not of the highest literary value in terms of writing technique or style, it is still no doubt a very entertaining novel, and one which does a good job of raising several broader issues within the context of the sci-fi plot. These broader issues include the environmental (e.g., how a planet can manage, and even positively exploit, its limited natural resources), political (e.g., the necessities of power politics and the tactics necessary to gain and maintain political power), religious (e.g., the commonalities between various religions and the effect that space travel may one day have on religion and religious beliefs), and others.
Because of the readability of this book and the way that Herbert ties in some interesting issues that certainly remain pertinent today (especially environmental concerns), I do recommend this book.
While reading the book (and still right now), I set the desktop background of both my work computer and home computer to desert images: "Wind" and "Red moon desert" respectively.
In the book it was interesting to hear descriptions of how the Fremen, or desert-dwellers of Arrakis, developed technology to cope and adapt to the harsh conditions of the desert. For example, "still-suits" which helped to retain the body's moisture and recycle it through mouthtubes.
The imagery that Herbert used also brought me back to my experiences in Egypt earlier this year (see my earlier posts by clicking on "March" under the "2008" tab in the Blog Archives to the left of your screen, and scroll down to the posts between the 5th and 24th of that month).
It's really difficult to put into words the thoughts and feelings, and inner reflections, that one has out in the Sahara. The vastness of the desert is overwhelming, and for that reason, quite humbling. But in its way, it is very beautiful. Its size and simplicity seem to send a clear message to humanity to respect God's power to create and destroy. Perhaps -- if I may speculate -- that is why Islam plays such a central and pervasive role in Arab culture and society: the ever-present reminder of Allah's power over planet Earth and humankind.
Leaving you to ponder these deeper questions of existence, I leave you some visual images of reference. And for me personally, some visual images of remembrance:
So what the hell else shall I write about? Lucky for you, I've been thinking about that question for a lil' while. And I have an answer: the prevalence of sand in my life. To illustrate:
Just last Thursday I finished the book "Dune" by Frank Herbert. In case you're not a sci-fi geek, Dune is a landmark science fiction novel. It's about a boy named Paul Atreides who grows up to be the leader of Arrakis, which is a desert planet. Ahhh (light bulb shines brightly over your head): a planet of sand AND thus tied to the theme which I have already noted. Although not of the highest literary value in terms of writing technique or style, it is still no doubt a very entertaining novel, and one which does a good job of raising several broader issues within the context of the sci-fi plot. These broader issues include the environmental (e.g., how a planet can manage, and even positively exploit, its limited natural resources), political (e.g., the necessities of power politics and the tactics necessary to gain and maintain political power), religious (e.g., the commonalities between various religions and the effect that space travel may one day have on religion and religious beliefs), and others.
Because of the readability of this book and the way that Herbert ties in some interesting issues that certainly remain pertinent today (especially environmental concerns), I do recommend this book.
While reading the book (and still right now), I set the desktop background of both my work computer and home computer to desert images: "Wind" and "Red moon desert" respectively.
In the book it was interesting to hear descriptions of how the Fremen, or desert-dwellers of Arrakis, developed technology to cope and adapt to the harsh conditions of the desert. For example, "still-suits" which helped to retain the body's moisture and recycle it through mouthtubes.
The imagery that Herbert used also brought me back to my experiences in Egypt earlier this year (see my earlier posts by clicking on "March" under the "2008" tab in the Blog Archives to the left of your screen, and scroll down to the posts between the 5th and 24th of that month).
It's really difficult to put into words the thoughts and feelings, and inner reflections, that one has out in the Sahara. The vastness of the desert is overwhelming, and for that reason, quite humbling. But in its way, it is very beautiful. Its size and simplicity seem to send a clear message to humanity to respect God's power to create and destroy. Perhaps -- if I may speculate -- that is why Islam plays such a central and pervasive role in Arab culture and society: the ever-present reminder of Allah's power over planet Earth and humankind.
Leaving you to ponder these deeper questions of existence, I leave you some visual images of reference. And for me personally, some visual images of remembrance:
Saturday, August 2, 2008
NoLibs
For those who aren't in the know, the term "NoLibs" refers to Northern Liberties, a section of the city located roughly in the northeastern part of Center City. NoLibs is bounded by Spring Garden Street to the south, Girard Avenue to the north, Front Street to the east, and 6th Street to the west.
Last night, after hitting up the gym for a quick leg work-out, I headed out to catch the trolley at 19th and Market Streets, then transferred to the EL at 15th Street to head eastbound up to the Spring Garden stop. I was going to meet some friends at a highly-acclaimed restaurant up that way, Bar Ferdinand, which I've been meaning to hit up for a while.
Once I got there, I realized that I really should've gotten off at the Girard stop of the EL, since Bar Ferdinand is located just a couple blocks south of Girard. But the text message that I'd gotten earlier told me that I should get off at Spring Garden; oh well, it allowed me a pleasant walking tour of NoLibs' de facto main street: 2nd Street, along which are lots of bars, restaurants, and local threads shops. Second Street there really embodies the spirit of Northern Liberties: upscale alternative urban counterculture, i.e., hipster. (By the way, please read urbandictionary's definition of "hipster" HERE, hilarious shit and so on-point!).
Bar Ferdinand was definitely very hip, nice decor, quite upscale, a lot of good-looking people. I found my friends sitting at a long table directly in front of a mosaic mural with the Black Osborne Bull of Spain (El Toro Negro; the unofficial national symbol of Spain) right in the smack-dab center of the mural; it was really nice. Since the restaurant only serves tapas -- and I ate just one (mejillones con chorizo) -- I had to stop at Rustica Pizza back on 2nd Street, closer to Fairmount, to get 3 slices of pizza to completely fill me up.
After hanging out at Lisa's for a little while -- so everyone could have a breather before going out for the night and so I could finish up my pizza -- Claire and I decided to leave to catch the EL back to Center City. After having drank a very refreshing cup of Pepsi with my pizza, though, I was determined to find another cup of Pepsi: and not merely a plastic bottle of it, but another fountain drink of Pepsi. Wow! Well, that was a long and harrowing journey that eventually led to Drinker's, where I gave up and just ordered a cola, hoping that it would be Pepsi. I asked the bartender if it was Coca-Cola or Pepsi, and to my surprise he said that it was neither, but was instead a local, Philadelphia-produced cola. After doing a quite cursory search on Google (as if you need a link to Google, right) to find out the name of this local cola, I couldn't find anything. If you know what it's called, then please let me know!
Anyway, back to today. In just a little bit, I'm heading out again to once more catch the EL. This time I'm taking the line to the eastbound (northern) terminus: Frankford Transportation Center. Mike is picking me up there and we're gonna get some eats up that way before heading back down to Center City for a couple drinks. That story to be filled out tomorrow, so check back in y'all.
Last night, after hitting up the gym for a quick leg work-out, I headed out to catch the trolley at 19th and Market Streets, then transferred to the EL at 15th Street to head eastbound up to the Spring Garden stop. I was going to meet some friends at a highly-acclaimed restaurant up that way, Bar Ferdinand, which I've been meaning to hit up for a while.
Once I got there, I realized that I really should've gotten off at the Girard stop of the EL, since Bar Ferdinand is located just a couple blocks south of Girard. But the text message that I'd gotten earlier told me that I should get off at Spring Garden; oh well, it allowed me a pleasant walking tour of NoLibs' de facto main street: 2nd Street, along which are lots of bars, restaurants, and local threads shops. Second Street there really embodies the spirit of Northern Liberties: upscale alternative urban counterculture, i.e., hipster. (By the way, please read urbandictionary's definition of "hipster" HERE, hilarious shit and so on-point!).
Bar Ferdinand was definitely very hip, nice decor, quite upscale, a lot of good-looking people. I found my friends sitting at a long table directly in front of a mosaic mural with the Black Osborne Bull of Spain (El Toro Negro; the unofficial national symbol of Spain) right in the smack-dab center of the mural; it was really nice. Since the restaurant only serves tapas -- and I ate just one (mejillones con chorizo) -- I had to stop at Rustica Pizza back on 2nd Street, closer to Fairmount, to get 3 slices of pizza to completely fill me up.
After hanging out at Lisa's for a little while -- so everyone could have a breather before going out for the night and so I could finish up my pizza -- Claire and I decided to leave to catch the EL back to Center City. After having drank a very refreshing cup of Pepsi with my pizza, though, I was determined to find another cup of Pepsi: and not merely a plastic bottle of it, but another fountain drink of Pepsi. Wow! Well, that was a long and harrowing journey that eventually led to Drinker's, where I gave up and just ordered a cola, hoping that it would be Pepsi. I asked the bartender if it was Coca-Cola or Pepsi, and to my surprise he said that it was neither, but was instead a local, Philadelphia-produced cola. After doing a quite cursory search on Google (as if you need a link to Google, right) to find out the name of this local cola, I couldn't find anything. If you know what it's called, then please let me know!
Anyway, back to today. In just a little bit, I'm heading out again to once more catch the EL. This time I'm taking the line to the eastbound (northern) terminus: Frankford Transportation Center. Mike is picking me up there and we're gonna get some eats up that way before heading back down to Center City for a couple drinks. That story to be filled out tomorrow, so check back in y'all.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Flip-Flops
This afternoon, after work, I went to Urban Outfitters (which, incidentally, began in 1970 as a store called "The Free People's Store" right here in Philadelphia) on Walnut Street to take advantage of their sale of flip-flops: 2 pairs for $10. Considering that I've been needing to pick-up flip-flops, this turned out to be a great opportunity. I got a brown pair and a blue pair.
Afterward, in the spirit of getting some stuff that I need, I walked a block down Walnut to City Sports. I've really been in need of some athletic shorts to play basketball and work-out at the gym. I was in luck. I picked up a pair of navy blue Nike basketball shorts.
After that, I walked over to Rittenhouse Square to sit down on a bench and enjoy the really beautiful weather (mostly sunny; 88 F / 31 C). Of course, on a warm and sunny Friday evening, the park was packed with people hanging out and walking through. It was the kind of scene that really makes me happy and proud to live in the city, and so close to the park itself. After sitting and enjoying the scene for a little while, I decide to call Paul to talk to him about, among other things, our trip. We both agreed that we have some planning to do. And Paul suggested that at some point while we're over there we should rent motorcycles and just go riding through the countryside to see where we end up. I told him that I love that idea, that's what it's all about!
Well, in a little while here, I'm heading off to Northern Liberties to meet some friends. I'll let'cha know how that all pans out.
Afterward, in the spirit of getting some stuff that I need, I walked a block down Walnut to City Sports. I've really been in need of some athletic shorts to play basketball and work-out at the gym. I was in luck. I picked up a pair of navy blue Nike basketball shorts.
After that, I walked over to Rittenhouse Square to sit down on a bench and enjoy the really beautiful weather (mostly sunny; 88 F / 31 C). Of course, on a warm and sunny Friday evening, the park was packed with people hanging out and walking through. It was the kind of scene that really makes me happy and proud to live in the city, and so close to the park itself. After sitting and enjoying the scene for a little while, I decide to call Paul to talk to him about, among other things, our trip. We both agreed that we have some planning to do. And Paul suggested that at some point while we're over there we should rent motorcycles and just go riding through the countryside to see where we end up. I told him that I love that idea, that's what it's all about!
Well, in a little while here, I'm heading off to Northern Liberties to meet some friends. I'll let'cha know how that all pans out.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
A Whole Lotta Soul
The Philadelphia Soul are the 2008 Arena Football League champions after winning ArenaBowl XXII just this past Sunday. Earlier today I went with a few co-workers to the post-season victory rally held at Dilworth Plaza, located at 15th and Market Streets on the west-side of City Hall. Click HERE to see a video of this "Soulabration."
Speaking of Dilworth Plaza, there are plans to renovate it within the next couple of years. Click HERE to see a really cool virtual-reality video of what Dilworth Plaza will look like once it has been modernized.
Anyway, getting back to the Soulabration, we had a really fun time. We were within 30 meters of the stage, which means that we were within 30 meters of the likes of Jon Bon Jovi, one of the team's two co-majority owners, and Ron "Jaws" Jaworski, one of the team's minority owners. When Jaworski stepped up to the podium, the entire crowd began chanting "Jaws, Jaws, Jaws"; it was great. As an aside, though, I have to admit that I would have preferred if the crowd had chanted Jaworski's other nickname: "The Polish Rifle."
What was also amusing about the Soulabration was the abundance (and dare I say horse-beat-dead-overusage) of references to Bon Jovi song lyrics -- as applied to the Soul's 2008 season and ArenaBowl XXII victory -- made by several speakers at the podium. Here are some examples paraphrased: 'Until we actually won the championship, we had been livin' on a prayer'; 'Now that we've won the championship, we're riding out in a blaze of glory'; and several others. Needless to say, there was a lot of eye-rolling throughout the crowd.
Finally, what may have been the best part of the whole experience: during the Soulabration I stood next to a wild-eyed, fanatic, possibly homeless man, who was whipped up into a fervor throughout the entire ceremony. At moments of crowd excitement, this wild man would move his arm in a combination --"forward-football-pass"/"tomahawk-chop"-- motion. Anytime he did this, I would imitate him: the two of us vehemently gesturing with our right arm in support of our hometown champions. Hey, no one can say that I don't have soul!
Speaking of Dilworth Plaza, there are plans to renovate it within the next couple of years. Click HERE to see a really cool virtual-reality video of what Dilworth Plaza will look like once it has been modernized.
Anyway, getting back to the Soulabration, we had a really fun time. We were within 30 meters of the stage, which means that we were within 30 meters of the likes of Jon Bon Jovi, one of the team's two co-majority owners, and Ron "Jaws" Jaworski, one of the team's minority owners. When Jaworski stepped up to the podium, the entire crowd began chanting "Jaws, Jaws, Jaws"; it was great. As an aside, though, I have to admit that I would have preferred if the crowd had chanted Jaworski's other nickname: "The Polish Rifle."
What was also amusing about the Soulabration was the abundance (and dare I say horse-beat-dead-overusage) of references to Bon Jovi song lyrics -- as applied to the Soul's 2008 season and ArenaBowl XXII victory -- made by several speakers at the podium. Here are some examples paraphrased: 'Until we actually won the championship, we had been livin' on a prayer'; 'Now that we've won the championship, we're riding out in a blaze of glory'; and several others. Needless to say, there was a lot of eye-rolling throughout the crowd.
Finally, what may have been the best part of the whole experience: during the Soulabration I stood next to a wild-eyed, fanatic, possibly homeless man, who was whipped up into a fervor throughout the entire ceremony. At moments of crowd excitement, this wild man would move his arm in a combination --"forward-football-pass"/"tomahawk-chop"-- motion. Anytime he did this, I would imitate him: the two of us vehemently gesturing with our right arm in support of our hometown champions. Hey, no one can say that I don't have soul!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
One Year Ago Today...
. . . I was in the middle of the bar examination, a three-day process on the last Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of July 2007.
For the first two days I got a ride with a classmate to the Valley Forge Convention Center, located in King of Prussia, where I sat for the Pennsylvania bar examination. Tuesday was essay day; Wednesday was the MBE -- the Multi-State Bar Examination -- a 200-question, multiple choice bonanza: 100 questions in 3 hours in the morning, then 100 questions in 3 hours in the afternoon.
I remember sitting there in this enormous convention hall, rows upon rows of desks (i.e., picnic tables) filled with fellow test-takers, thinking to myself that this was the real deal, the culmination of a summer of anticipation, and ultimately the final psychological obstacle, after 3 years of self-sacrifice and a great deal of unhappiness, that I would soon re-enter society and begin reestablishing some self-sufficiency and, concomitantly, some self-respect. I was worn-out and depressed at being dependent. Thus, the natural nervousness that I had sitting there for the bar exam was counterbalanced, and perhaps even outweighed, by a keen sense of completion.
"It's game-time, baby," I said to my friend Mike, while slapping his hand in greeting, that first morning right as I was walking into the Convention Center. And that's how it felt to me; it reminded me of the feelings that coursed through my body before my high school and college football games, the nervous excitement I had before club meetings and public speaking experiences in college: the common factor being that I was stepping up to the stage, confident in my ability to perform under pressure and under the spotlight, and get the win no matter what.
Wednesday night, after taking the MBE earlier that day, I packed my bookbag and went to 30th Street Station to catch an Amtrak train to Trenton. My dad picked me up and I spent the night with him, so I could leave first thing on Thursday morning to drop him off at the train station (to get to work) and I could continue driving on to Somerset, New Jersey, where I sat for the essay day of the New Jersey bar examination.
Thursday was a breeze, psychologically speaking: I knew that the PA bar was behind me and this was just gonna be icing on the cake. The ambivalent feelings of the first two days shifted weight by the time I arrived in Somerset, to the point that I felt bold and quite assured, thinking to myself that I had absolutely nothing to lose. The NJ bar was administered in a huge garage, what could've easily been an airplane hangar, it was so big and absent of any spirit or comfort. But it didn't faze me because I was already looking forward to drinking a few cold beers that evening with my dad, and the certainty of that made the day itself seem like only a formal requisite that merely had to be dealt with. Despite this, I remember pulling out of the parking lot in Somerset feeling like an emancipated man, as if I had graduated again for the second time in just two months. Man, what a feeling!
And so, being very aware of others who are taking bar exams this year, I'm reflective of where I was this time last year. I'm very thankful that I passed both the PA and NJ bar exams. I'm very relieved that I was able to push through all the frustrating, helpless, and depressed times over the course of 3 years and get to where I am today. That's not to say that I've reached my final destination, because the new journey is still just beginning. But law school and the bar exam was a chapter unto itself, one that I look back on with wistful self-pity, but in the sweetness of retrospect, with a sense of pride and accomplishment, all the more so for having endured so many psychological and mental challenges.
For the first two days I got a ride with a classmate to the Valley Forge Convention Center, located in King of Prussia, where I sat for the Pennsylvania bar examination. Tuesday was essay day; Wednesday was the MBE -- the Multi-State Bar Examination -- a 200-question, multiple choice bonanza: 100 questions in 3 hours in the morning, then 100 questions in 3 hours in the afternoon.
I remember sitting there in this enormous convention hall, rows upon rows of desks (i.e., picnic tables) filled with fellow test-takers, thinking to myself that this was the real deal, the culmination of a summer of anticipation, and ultimately the final psychological obstacle, after 3 years of self-sacrifice and a great deal of unhappiness, that I would soon re-enter society and begin reestablishing some self-sufficiency and, concomitantly, some self-respect. I was worn-out and depressed at being dependent. Thus, the natural nervousness that I had sitting there for the bar exam was counterbalanced, and perhaps even outweighed, by a keen sense of completion.
"It's game-time, baby," I said to my friend Mike, while slapping his hand in greeting, that first morning right as I was walking into the Convention Center. And that's how it felt to me; it reminded me of the feelings that coursed through my body before my high school and college football games, the nervous excitement I had before club meetings and public speaking experiences in college: the common factor being that I was stepping up to the stage, confident in my ability to perform under pressure and under the spotlight, and get the win no matter what.
Wednesday night, after taking the MBE earlier that day, I packed my bookbag and went to 30th Street Station to catch an Amtrak train to Trenton. My dad picked me up and I spent the night with him, so I could leave first thing on Thursday morning to drop him off at the train station (to get to work) and I could continue driving on to Somerset, New Jersey, where I sat for the essay day of the New Jersey bar examination.
Thursday was a breeze, psychologically speaking: I knew that the PA bar was behind me and this was just gonna be icing on the cake. The ambivalent feelings of the first two days shifted weight by the time I arrived in Somerset, to the point that I felt bold and quite assured, thinking to myself that I had absolutely nothing to lose. The NJ bar was administered in a huge garage, what could've easily been an airplane hangar, it was so big and absent of any spirit or comfort. But it didn't faze me because I was already looking forward to drinking a few cold beers that evening with my dad, and the certainty of that made the day itself seem like only a formal requisite that merely had to be dealt with. Despite this, I remember pulling out of the parking lot in Somerset feeling like an emancipated man, as if I had graduated again for the second time in just two months. Man, what a feeling!
And so, being very aware of others who are taking bar exams this year, I'm reflective of where I was this time last year. I'm very thankful that I passed both the PA and NJ bar exams. I'm very relieved that I was able to push through all the frustrating, helpless, and depressed times over the course of 3 years and get to where I am today. That's not to say that I've reached my final destination, because the new journey is still just beginning. But law school and the bar exam was a chapter unto itself, one that I look back on with wistful self-pity, but in the sweetness of retrospect, with a sense of pride and accomplishment, all the more so for having endured so many psychological and mental challenges.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Resurrection
Okay, so maybe the title is a little bit dramatic. But hey, I had to get your attention somehow, right? And it does apply since I haven't checked in here for two months. Let's catch up, then!
Here's the big news hot off the presses: later this year I'm heading to southeast Asia for just under 3 weeks. My partner-in-crime is one of my very best friends, Paul. This will be our first trip together where we're both in a totally new place. Although we're only at the beginning of the planning phase -- the tickets were just reserved -- I think, for my part at least, that we'd like to try hitting all 4 accessible countries of the mainland region: Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. We arrive in Bangkok, Thailand, so at least that much is known.
In the meantime, if you or anyone you know is from SE Asia or has been to SE Asia, please hook me up with some advice. As G.I. Joe said, "knowing is half the battle!" So give me knowledge, all you shiny happy people!
Finally, in a note to "Phil", who left a comment in one of my earlier posts, I'd like to report that the brown Tasso Elba Elliot Cap Toe Oxford shoes (a photo of which you can access HERE) are now completely broken in. Coincidentally enough (are there such things are coinky-dinks?), one of my co-workers today noticed the shoes and was informed, much to her delight, that I had finally conquered them. I guess you could call that a "taming of the shoe."
I'm gonna try my darndest to keep writing regularly! So please check back at your leisure (pronounce in the British manner, i.e. "lezhure", if you don't mind).
Here's the big news hot off the presses: later this year I'm heading to southeast Asia for just under 3 weeks. My partner-in-crime is one of my very best friends, Paul. This will be our first trip together where we're both in a totally new place. Although we're only at the beginning of the planning phase -- the tickets were just reserved -- I think, for my part at least, that we'd like to try hitting all 4 accessible countries of the mainland region: Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. We arrive in Bangkok, Thailand, so at least that much is known.
In the meantime, if you or anyone you know is from SE Asia or has been to SE Asia, please hook me up with some advice. As G.I. Joe said, "knowing is half the battle!" So give me knowledge, all you shiny happy people!
Finally, in a note to "Phil", who left a comment in one of my earlier posts, I'd like to report that the brown Tasso Elba Elliot Cap Toe Oxford shoes (a photo of which you can access HERE) are now completely broken in. Coincidentally enough (are there such things are coinky-dinks?), one of my co-workers today noticed the shoes and was informed, much to her delight, that I had finally conquered them. I guess you could call that a "taming of the shoe."
I'm gonna try my darndest to keep writing regularly! So please check back at your leisure (pronounce in the British manner, i.e. "lezhure", if you don't mind).
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
the pros & cons of cherise
Pro
- genuinely good person
- beautiful smile
- athletic, in shape
- likes to travel
- gives me easy access to West Coast
- multicultural, open to other cultures
- fun to be with
- college-educated
- comes from a good family
- my family and friends like her
- wants to have a family, i.e. children
Con
- doesn't show interest, substantively, in my career
- doesn't really like to read
- doesn't seem to show an active interest in my interests, thoughts, & beliefs
- we don't seem to communicate effectively with each other, especially to resolve disagreements
- may not be willing to settle in Philly
- doesn't seem to have any plan for employment after dancing
- is not, at the least, financially self-sufficient
- messy and disorganized, possibly sometimes affecting her responsibilities
- her free time has not coincided with my free time, so we have little quality time together
- genuinely good person
- beautiful smile
- athletic, in shape
- likes to travel
- gives me easy access to West Coast
- multicultural, open to other cultures
- fun to be with
- college-educated
- comes from a good family
- my family and friends like her
- wants to have a family, i.e. children
Con
- doesn't show interest, substantively, in my career
- doesn't really like to read
- doesn't seem to show an active interest in my interests, thoughts, & beliefs
- we don't seem to communicate effectively with each other, especially to resolve disagreements
- may not be willing to settle in Philly
- doesn't seem to have any plan for employment after dancing
- is not, at the least, financially self-sufficient
- messy and disorganized, possibly sometimes affecting her responsibilities
- her free time has not coincided with my free time, so we have little quality time together
Friday, May 23, 2008
Quick hallo!
Work has picked up again at the project. And I've picked up a couple more clients on the side. So I've been busy. Also, to be honest, I haven't had the motivation or desire to write anything in here for a while. But I figured I'd check in with this quick hallo! Perhaps there will be more to come soon. You'll just have to come back again to find out!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Finally!
For the past week my internet connection has been terribly slow if not totally non-existent. Hence my extended absence. Believe me, this wasn't intentional.
So where do I even begin now that I'm back? Well I guess I'll pick up where I left off: I'm still in the process of breaking in my new dress shoes. As I write this now, I'm looking at a well-developed scab on my right heel, marking the precise spot where my new shoe is rubbing the heck out of my skin. The breaking-in process is coming along though, and I'm still very committed to breaking them in because I'm not quite rich enough to simply go out and buy another pair at the next half-size up.
Speaking of hurting feet, I've also kept up my playing basketball. I played again last Saturday, and it was the best that I've played in years. In the last game up to 16 points, I scored about 11 or 12 of our team's points. And this is saying quite a bit when you realize that, of the five guys on the other team, three of them were around 6'4". The guy guarding me was that tall, but he couldn't guard me since I simply had the quickest first step on the court and my ball-handling skills were the best that they've been this year.
Now that my cardiovascular endurance is slowly building up now, I decided to play just a couple nights ago, i.e. this past Wednesday. Before playing, though, I made the mistake of drinking a coffee toward the end of the workday. I realized while I was playing that I felt jumpy and nervous. It wasn't until later that night that I put two and two together and figured out that the caffeine must have still been coursing through my veins when I went to play. I had more than a few shots that just didn't feel smooth, they were either too strong or they'd rim in and out of the hoop. It was frustrating at the time since I'm definitely a scorer. In the last couple of games I focused a bit more on playing good defense and grabbing as many boards as possible.
But before ending this brief recap, let me say that my best move was probably one in which I got a dish right near the hoop, on the left-hand side, with two tall guys right there (one was probably 6'5" and the other was about 6'2" with disproportionately long arms); after catching the ball, I stepped forward on my pivot foot and jumped in the air, both guys defending as if I was gonna go straight up on the left-hand side, but I angled my body to jump up right under the rim, and I reached out with my right hand to the opposite side of the rim to toss up the ball for a reverse lay-up that went right in. It was a beautiful play, and I was even complimented on it after the game.
Before I push my luck too much with this internet connection, let me close here. I'll only mention in passing that I'm heading out of town tomorrow to visit my sister in Easton, Pennsylvania, to celebrate her birthday with her. She turns 28 on the 12th of May.
Thanks for hanging in there, folks! I'll be back again as soon as I can. So until then, I'll see ya when. Regards to Jen and hi to Ken. The Flyers are gonna beat the Pens.
So where do I even begin now that I'm back? Well I guess I'll pick up where I left off: I'm still in the process of breaking in my new dress shoes. As I write this now, I'm looking at a well-developed scab on my right heel, marking the precise spot where my new shoe is rubbing the heck out of my skin. The breaking-in process is coming along though, and I'm still very committed to breaking them in because I'm not quite rich enough to simply go out and buy another pair at the next half-size up.
Speaking of hurting feet, I've also kept up my playing basketball. I played again last Saturday, and it was the best that I've played in years. In the last game up to 16 points, I scored about 11 or 12 of our team's points. And this is saying quite a bit when you realize that, of the five guys on the other team, three of them were around 6'4". The guy guarding me was that tall, but he couldn't guard me since I simply had the quickest first step on the court and my ball-handling skills were the best that they've been this year.
Now that my cardiovascular endurance is slowly building up now, I decided to play just a couple nights ago, i.e. this past Wednesday. Before playing, though, I made the mistake of drinking a coffee toward the end of the workday. I realized while I was playing that I felt jumpy and nervous. It wasn't until later that night that I put two and two together and figured out that the caffeine must have still been coursing through my veins when I went to play. I had more than a few shots that just didn't feel smooth, they were either too strong or they'd rim in and out of the hoop. It was frustrating at the time since I'm definitely a scorer. In the last couple of games I focused a bit more on playing good defense and grabbing as many boards as possible.
But before ending this brief recap, let me say that my best move was probably one in which I got a dish right near the hoop, on the left-hand side, with two tall guys right there (one was probably 6'5" and the other was about 6'2" with disproportionately long arms); after catching the ball, I stepped forward on my pivot foot and jumped in the air, both guys defending as if I was gonna go straight up on the left-hand side, but I angled my body to jump up right under the rim, and I reached out with my right hand to the opposite side of the rim to toss up the ball for a reverse lay-up that went right in. It was a beautiful play, and I was even complimented on it after the game.
Before I push my luck too much with this internet connection, let me close here. I'll only mention in passing that I'm heading out of town tomorrow to visit my sister in Easton, Pennsylvania, to celebrate her birthday with her. She turns 28 on the 12th of May.
Thanks for hanging in there, folks! I'll be back again as soon as I can. So until then, I'll see ya when. Regards to Jen and hi to Ken. The Flyers are gonna beat the Pens.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
He feels his heels are really bleeding
A couple of weeks ago I bought a brand new pair of dress shoes: brown leather Tasso Elba shoes. When I tried them on in the store, Macy's, they felt fine. I even had the salesman feel where my big toe was in the shoes to confirm that the size seemed right.
Well, the first day that I wore the shoes to work I realized not far into my 15 minute walk to work that the shoes didn't feel right. About halfway through my pedestrian commute, I began experiencing severe pain in my heels, but more particularly on my right heel. As soon as I arrived at work and took off my shoes, I realized that I was bleeding from my right heel and a good amount of skin had already been lost due to the heavy friction. But since I had bled through my sock and bled on to the shoe, I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be able to return or exchange the shoes at Macy's, bloodstained as they were.
For the past couple of weeks I had decided to wear the shoes every other day while wearing my old, beat-up and worn-in shoes on the alternate days. And although I was wearing bandages on each of my heels so that I wouldn't bleed, the shoes (again: more specifically the right shoe) still felt uncomfortably tight.
So I made the decision right before this week began to go full-force; I decided that I was going to wear these damn shoes every day until they get totally broken in. I will continue to wear the bandages on my heels until they run out; so I have about another week of heel protection. The shoes are now, relatively speaking, more broken in than before, but the key emphasis is on the phrase "relatively speaking." I figure, though, that leather can stretch, and I'm determined to continue breaking them in.
The first couple of days that I wore the new shoes, I was made fun of because I couldn't walk normally. My friend Michael said that I was walking like a stick figure: very gingerly and with unbending knees. In fact, it was taking me fully twice as long to walk to work than normal: from 15 to almost 30 minutes walking. Even now, I still have to walk a bit slower than I would like to; but maybe that'll give me a chance to enjoy the scenery, right?
I've gotten compliments on the new shoes, and the old shoes had completely worn down the outer edge of the sole, to the point of some holes in the bottom of the shoe, my point being that I'm committed to keeping the new ones and trashing the old ones. But the breaking in process goes on. You can call me the shoe-whisperer.
Well, the first day that I wore the shoes to work I realized not far into my 15 minute walk to work that the shoes didn't feel right. About halfway through my pedestrian commute, I began experiencing severe pain in my heels, but more particularly on my right heel. As soon as I arrived at work and took off my shoes, I realized that I was bleeding from my right heel and a good amount of skin had already been lost due to the heavy friction. But since I had bled through my sock and bled on to the shoe, I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be able to return or exchange the shoes at Macy's, bloodstained as they were.
For the past couple of weeks I had decided to wear the shoes every other day while wearing my old, beat-up and worn-in shoes on the alternate days. And although I was wearing bandages on each of my heels so that I wouldn't bleed, the shoes (again: more specifically the right shoe) still felt uncomfortably tight.
So I made the decision right before this week began to go full-force; I decided that I was going to wear these damn shoes every day until they get totally broken in. I will continue to wear the bandages on my heels until they run out; so I have about another week of heel protection. The shoes are now, relatively speaking, more broken in than before, but the key emphasis is on the phrase "relatively speaking." I figure, though, that leather can stretch, and I'm determined to continue breaking them in.
The first couple of days that I wore the new shoes, I was made fun of because I couldn't walk normally. My friend Michael said that I was walking like a stick figure: very gingerly and with unbending knees. In fact, it was taking me fully twice as long to walk to work than normal: from 15 to almost 30 minutes walking. Even now, I still have to walk a bit slower than I would like to; but maybe that'll give me a chance to enjoy the scenery, right?
I've gotten compliments on the new shoes, and the old shoes had completely worn down the outer edge of the sole, to the point of some holes in the bottom of the shoe, my point being that I'm committed to keeping the new ones and trashing the old ones. But the breaking in process goes on. You can call me the shoe-whisperer.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Chilly, chilly in Philly
It's a chilly night in Philly tonight. The weather forecast predicts that there may even be some frost in the northern suburbs overnight tonight. This cool spell is in contrast to the warm, sunny weather -- reminiscent of southern California or Guanacaste, Costa Rica -- that we had every day for about two weeks straight to start the month of April. But I don't mind this cool weather, because it's nice to sleep in, and I'm quite sure it won't last for long; that is to say, I'm sure the warm spring weather will return very soon.
This afternoon I was surprised to see a camera crew filming and taking photographs at my work. For a minute the camera was pointed directly at me; I couldn't help smiling devilishly. And I think it was a good day for it because I combed my hair in a very Republican fashion today: combed down from right to left with a soft (not hard) part on the right-hand side. It was very much in the style of George Clooney or Brad Pitt from Ocean's Eleven. So, you ask, was this my debut as a movie star? Unlikely. I think it was probably just the partners from the head law firm running the project documenting the size and conditions of our work site. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll have my 15 minutes of fame in a movie theater near you later this summer. I'll keep you posted on that one.
Finally tonight, for pure recording purposes, I bench pressed my body weight (185 pounds) 12 times earlier this evening. It felt pretty good.
Well, once again I have to get ready for bed early tonight. Remind me to tell you later about my new dress shoes that I've been wearing to work, and the pain and suffering attached to the process of breaking them in; more on that tomorrow. Until then, I hope you have a great hump day tomorrow! From chilly Philly, your silly Philly friend.
This afternoon I was surprised to see a camera crew filming and taking photographs at my work. For a minute the camera was pointed directly at me; I couldn't help smiling devilishly. And I think it was a good day for it because I combed my hair in a very Republican fashion today: combed down from right to left with a soft (not hard) part on the right-hand side. It was very much in the style of George Clooney or Brad Pitt from Ocean's Eleven. So, you ask, was this my debut as a movie star? Unlikely. I think it was probably just the partners from the head law firm running the project documenting the size and conditions of our work site. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll have my 15 minutes of fame in a movie theater near you later this summer. I'll keep you posted on that one.
Finally tonight, for pure recording purposes, I bench pressed my body weight (185 pounds) 12 times earlier this evening. It felt pretty good.
Well, once again I have to get ready for bed early tonight. Remind me to tell you later about my new dress shoes that I've been wearing to work, and the pain and suffering attached to the process of breaking them in; more on that tomorrow. Until then, I hope you have a great hump day tomorrow! From chilly Philly, your silly Philly friend.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Abbreviate
I've gotta keep it short tonight, because my goal this week is to really focus on getting to bed early so that, hopefully, I can actually get into work at a decent hour each day this week. As of late, my focus has shifted from weekends to weekdays, from an outward-looking perspective to an inward-looking perspective, from them to me, from seeking happiness by looking for a girl to seeking happiness by advancing my own career.
Yesterday afternoon I spent a couple of hours with Rebekka, one of Roland's friends from Germany. She had a 6-hour layover at Philadelphia International Airport (PHL), so we made and followed through on plans to meet for some of that time. We met at 30th Street Station, where she had taken the Septa R1 from the airport. From there, we took the Market-Frankford EL to 5th and Market, where we got out and walked to the National Constitution Center. Although this was technically my second time there, it was my first time to pay admission and walk through the NCC. And I've gotta say: I highly recommend that you check the place out. The introductory movie/live performance, called "Freedom Rising", was really moving and very inspiring. The other highlight was Signers' Hall, a lifesize re-creation -- in the form of bronze statues -- of the signers of the U.S. Constitution.
Anyway, I hope you had a great Monday, and may you have an even better Tuesday! From a cool, rainy, and cloudy Philadelphia: the birthplace of the United States of America.
Duty and Responsibility to Serve
With the privilege of living a comfortable, secure life in a developed and peaceful nation comes the duty and responsibility to serve one's community, whether it be the local or the global. This duty and responsibility necessarily entails the knowledge and sensitivity to do the serving -- and this in turn demands that one continue, throughout life, to self-educate in both theory (through books) and praxis (through proactive experience) in order to continually gain and promote this knowledge and sensitivity.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Ballin'
For the second Saturday in a row, I went down to the Schuylkill River Park to play basketball. It was really good to get out and move around. I played for about two hours, about three half-court games and, at the end, one full-court game. Full-court definitely suits me well because I can use my speed and athleticism more to my advantage than I would in a half-court game. In all three of the half-court games, I had to play defense against Eric, who I'm guessing is about 6'2". This forced me to play, defensively, a forward's game: down on the block and in the paint. I don't have a problem defending down low, but I play more like a guard, so I definitely prefer to play like a two-guard on both offense and defense. In the end, though, it was another great afternoon of solid cardiovascular exercise. I certainly hope to continue the pattern of playing hoops on Saturdays.
As I've been typing all of this I've been listening to a Jamiroquai greatest hits cd that I picked-up a couple weeks ago, but only just tonight have I finally imported it into my iTunes. I really like this type of music: a fusion of funk, disco, and acid jazz. It's similar to two of my favorite groups: Los Amigos Invisibles and Tortured Soul. Here in Philly I've seen Amigos Invisibles twice live: once at the TLA back during my first year of law school with my then-girlfriend, Cherise, and again just this past autumn at World Cafe Live with my friend Park and his then-girlfriend. I came across Tortured Soul in the summer of 2006 when I happened to walk through Rittenhouse Square while they were performing for a Philadelphia Weekly summer concert series performance. They had the whole park movin' and groovin'; I loved the music.
So tonight I decided to stay in for the night. As crazy as it sounds, it's taken me a whole week to recover from last weekend's non-stop action. I did go out for a little while last night, though, just to get out of the apartment. Claire and I went to my new favorite neighborhood bar, Ten Stone, for a couple rounds. I drank three Sawtooth beers on draught and she drank a couple gin & tonics. It was cool because I was able to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game on one of their really nice tv's. I was also happy to see that my favorite waitress was working, although she was in the back almost the entire time. Anyway, Claire and I had a nice conversation talking about her job prospects and objectives, among other topics as well.
I didn't get home too late last night, and since I felt that I needed to let some of the alcohol wear off before going to bed, I took the time to finish the last 10 pages of my book, The 42nd Parallel by John Dos Passos. So earlier today, while drinking my habitual late afternoon coffee, I began my next book: Dying To Cross: The Worst Immigrant Tragedy in American History by Jorge Ramos. I'm about 30 pages into it. But it's only 173 pages long, so I'll definitely finish it up by the end of the day Monday.
Alright, folks, that's about all for now. Before signing off, though, I'd like to apprise you of a plan that I have in mind: I'd like to begin transcribing entries from my old hand-written diary into this 'ere blog that you've been so kind to read. In this way, I can record my old trips and experiences on to the world wide web, and in the process, also provide you with another source of entertainment and background characterization of yours truly. So at some point soon, you should check for a tab on the left-hand side that indicates entries from the year 2002.
Peace out from tha Illadelph! Until next time, keep it alive in the 2-1-5-!!!
As I've been typing all of this I've been listening to a Jamiroquai greatest hits cd that I picked-up a couple weeks ago, but only just tonight have I finally imported it into my iTunes. I really like this type of music: a fusion of funk, disco, and acid jazz. It's similar to two of my favorite groups: Los Amigos Invisibles and Tortured Soul. Here in Philly I've seen Amigos Invisibles twice live: once at the TLA back during my first year of law school with my then-girlfriend, Cherise, and again just this past autumn at World Cafe Live with my friend Park and his then-girlfriend. I came across Tortured Soul in the summer of 2006 when I happened to walk through Rittenhouse Square while they were performing for a Philadelphia Weekly summer concert series performance. They had the whole park movin' and groovin'; I loved the music.
So tonight I decided to stay in for the night. As crazy as it sounds, it's taken me a whole week to recover from last weekend's non-stop action. I did go out for a little while last night, though, just to get out of the apartment. Claire and I went to my new favorite neighborhood bar, Ten Stone, for a couple rounds. I drank three Sawtooth beers on draught and she drank a couple gin & tonics. It was cool because I was able to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game on one of their really nice tv's. I was also happy to see that my favorite waitress was working, although she was in the back almost the entire time. Anyway, Claire and I had a nice conversation talking about her job prospects and objectives, among other topics as well.
I didn't get home too late last night, and since I felt that I needed to let some of the alcohol wear off before going to bed, I took the time to finish the last 10 pages of my book, The 42nd Parallel by John Dos Passos. So earlier today, while drinking my habitual late afternoon coffee, I began my next book: Dying To Cross: The Worst Immigrant Tragedy in American History by Jorge Ramos. I'm about 30 pages into it. But it's only 173 pages long, so I'll definitely finish it up by the end of the day Monday.
Alright, folks, that's about all for now. Before signing off, though, I'd like to apprise you of a plan that I have in mind: I'd like to begin transcribing entries from my old hand-written diary into this 'ere blog that you've been so kind to read. In this way, I can record my old trips and experiences on to the world wide web, and in the process, also provide you with another source of entertainment and background characterization of yours truly. So at some point soon, you should check for a tab on the left-hand side that indicates entries from the year 2002.
Peace out from tha Illadelph! Until next time, keep it alive in the 2-1-5-!!!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Just wond'rin'
Ya know, I was thinking to myself just now: what the hell am I going to write about tonight? And it got me to thinking: who the hell is reading this anyway? A rule of thumb for a writer (or also, in terms closer to me, for a lawyer) is to know your audience and to target them specifically with your form and content of communication. Well, here I'm just not too sure. If you catch a fancy to let me know that you're reading this, then give me a holler. But if you don't, then I guess we'll just have to continue our clandestine reader-writer relationship, hidden from all including the writer himself.
After I got home from work today, I ran over to the neighborhood gym for a quick work-out: back and legs. For my back I did lat pulldowns, upright rows, and reverse flies. For my legs I did leg curls and dumbell lunges. So ladies, did I mention that I live in that direction <flexing my arm while pointing in the direction of my pad>?
Enough of that, right? Well anyway, after my work-out I ran home, got changed, then ran out again to head to Continental Midtown, to meet a group of friends gathering in honor of our friend Jeff's 27th birthday, which he celebrated today. As I was about to pass through Rittenhouse Square on my way there, I saw a girl who I went to law school with, who I've randomly seen quite a bit of lately. I waved at her and said, "hello.....again" and she replied by asking "are you following me these days?" and I replied with something like "maybe, it sure seems that way." A typically lame yet practical conversation while passing someone in that situation. But I have to admit that it has been strange seeing her so much. I guess that happens occasionally in the city though.
For my fourth paragraph tonight, I'm gonna go through a story that I was reminded of -- and told everyone -- earlier this evening. While we were sitting around the brown round table, discussing whatever came to people's minds, Julie brought up a story about a friend in college who was a big eater and about the time when this guy passed out and they stuck a piece of food in his hand and underneath his nose to rouse him. Well, her story reminded me of a time in college when my good friend Lorge drank too much and passed out on the couch at our apartment at Ice House. To get him good, my roommate Puma and I came up with the idea to spray-paint his knees and bellybutton with this deep dark blue paint. It was over a week of taking showers two and three times a day that the paint finally even began to wear off. For a week Lorge looked like a smurf in his knees and bellybutton. I still have photos of that prank; man that was funny.
After I got home from work today, I ran over to the neighborhood gym for a quick work-out: back and legs. For my back I did lat pulldowns, upright rows, and reverse flies. For my legs I did leg curls and dumbell lunges. So ladies, did I mention that I live in that direction <flexing my arm while pointing in the direction of my pad>?
Enough of that, right? Well anyway, after my work-out I ran home, got changed, then ran out again to head to Continental Midtown, to meet a group of friends gathering in honor of our friend Jeff's 27th birthday, which he celebrated today. As I was about to pass through Rittenhouse Square on my way there, I saw a girl who I went to law school with, who I've randomly seen quite a bit of lately. I waved at her and said, "hello.....again" and she replied by asking "are you following me these days?" and I replied with something like "maybe, it sure seems that way." A typically lame yet practical conversation while passing someone in that situation. But I have to admit that it has been strange seeing her so much. I guess that happens occasionally in the city though.
For my fourth paragraph tonight, I'm gonna go through a story that I was reminded of -- and told everyone -- earlier this evening. While we were sitting around the brown round table, discussing whatever came to people's minds, Julie brought up a story about a friend in college who was a big eater and about the time when this guy passed out and they stuck a piece of food in his hand and underneath his nose to rouse him. Well, her story reminded me of a time in college when my good friend Lorge drank too much and passed out on the couch at our apartment at Ice House. To get him good, my roommate Puma and I came up with the idea to spray-paint his knees and bellybutton with this deep dark blue paint. It was over a week of taking showers two and three times a day that the paint finally even began to wear off. For a week Lorge looked like a smurf in his knees and bellybutton. I still have photos of that prank; man that was funny.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Comemoscas
There's a girl at my work who always walks around with her mouth open. It makes her appear really slow and dim-witted.
Earlier today I was daydreaming about what it would be like to throw a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she walked by, or maybe how funny it would be to flick a booger into her mouth before she even realized what was happening. I mean, really, when you walk around with your mouth wide open, you're just asking for it.
This girl reminded me of a character from a book I read about five years ago. Back at that time I embarked on a solo backpacking journey up the Pacific coast of Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Before leaving on my trek, I went to a bookstore in San Jose to pick-up a couple books, anticipating the need for nighttime entertainment in the many sleepy towns along the way. One of the books that I picked-up was "Lituma en los Andes", written in Spanish, by Mario Vargas Llosa. About twelve pages into the second chapter, the author describes one of the characters in this way:
Earlier today I was daydreaming about what it would be like to throw a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she walked by, or maybe how funny it would be to flick a booger into her mouth before she even realized what was happening. I mean, really, when you walk around with your mouth wide open, you're just asking for it.
This girl reminded me of a character from a book I read about five years ago. Back at that time I embarked on a solo backpacking journey up the Pacific coast of Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Before leaving on my trek, I went to a bookstore in San Jose to pick-up a couple books, anticipating the need for nighttime entertainment in the many sleepy towns along the way. One of the books that I picked-up was "Lituma en los Andes", written in Spanish, by Mario Vargas Llosa. About twelve pages into the second chapter, the author describes one of the characters in this way:
Quite coincidentally, after I had returned stateside after four months in Central America, my father gave me a book he had just finished reading. It was called "Death in the Andes" by Mario Vargas Llosa; yup, you guessed it, the English translation of the book I had read during my pilgrimage up la costa pacifica. Reading the English version, I once again revisited this memorable character: Comemoscas. Just as I do now, day in and day out, at my job, every single time I see this dumb-looking girl with her mouth wide open all the time. <flick!>"Desde nino a Pedrito Tinoco le habian dicho alunado, opa, ido, bobo, y, como siempre andaba con la boca abierta, comemoscas."
"From the time he was a boy, they had called Pedrito Tinoco half-wit, moron, dummy, simpleton, and since his mouth always hung open, they called him flycatcher, too."
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
An Unlikely Assortment
Clinton seems to have won Pennsylvania. So the Clinton-Obama battle continues for who knows how much longer. More and more I have the feeling that McCain is gonna win the presidency.
Earlier this afternoon, while walking up Locust Street, having just left Rittenhouse Square and heading home, I saw a girl riding a bicycle whom I recognized. It was a girl who I had gone on a couple dates with back in late October of last year. Of course she acted like she hadn't seen me: typical cowardice. We'd had a great couple of dates, but then she freaked out and sent me an email saying: "I think you are an amazing person. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm amazing for you." That is a direct quotation. Despite my reply to her ("as respectfully as I can say this, please don't tell me what I find amazing."), urging her to reconsider, she made it pretty clear that the wall was up and any further communication would be a waste of time. I swallowed my pride and accepted the inevitable, wondering for a while what the fuck had happened. Over time, I also accepted the hard lessons learned: that I have to slow down and keep my emotions in check next time -- even and especially when -- I meet a great girl, that I have to hide my cards a bit in spite of my innate instinct to always be upfront and honest, and that getting a girl from law school is a long shot due to the lawyer's tendency to choose a guy based on his employer, resume, and/or parents' name (i.e., the typical competitiveness that is bred in law school). Anyway, bringing this back to today's chance observation, seeing this girl definitely brought up a feeling of resentment. And, once again, a reminder of the hard lessons learned the hard way.
Later this evening, while waiting for my clothes in the dryer at the laundromat, I walked down to the Schuylkill River. The sun was setting and there was a warm, auburn hue to the clouds. I sat down on a bench overlooking the water and read some of my book, The 42nd Parallel, book one of the U.S.A. trilogy, by John Dos Passos. The surface of the river was shining and rippling and the air was comfortably cool. Behind me a long train sluggishly crawled by on the tracks immediately alongside the riverside park, pulling away, boxcar after boxcar, clanging and clanking until fading off toward the south, to the train depot.
The Philadelphia Flyers won game 7 against the Washington Capitals, thereby winning the series. Game 1 against the Montreal Canadiens is this Thursday. Go Flyers!
Earlier this afternoon, while walking up Locust Street, having just left Rittenhouse Square and heading home, I saw a girl riding a bicycle whom I recognized. It was a girl who I had gone on a couple dates with back in late October of last year. Of course she acted like she hadn't seen me: typical cowardice. We'd had a great couple of dates, but then she freaked out and sent me an email saying: "I think you are an amazing person. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm amazing for you." That is a direct quotation. Despite my reply to her ("as respectfully as I can say this, please don't tell me what I find amazing."), urging her to reconsider, she made it pretty clear that the wall was up and any further communication would be a waste of time. I swallowed my pride and accepted the inevitable, wondering for a while what the fuck had happened. Over time, I also accepted the hard lessons learned: that I have to slow down and keep my emotions in check next time -- even and especially when -- I meet a great girl, that I have to hide my cards a bit in spite of my innate instinct to always be upfront and honest, and that getting a girl from law school is a long shot due to the lawyer's tendency to choose a guy based on his employer, resume, and/or parents' name (i.e., the typical competitiveness that is bred in law school). Anyway, bringing this back to today's chance observation, seeing this girl definitely brought up a feeling of resentment. And, once again, a reminder of the hard lessons learned the hard way.
Later this evening, while waiting for my clothes in the dryer at the laundromat, I walked down to the Schuylkill River. The sun was setting and there was a warm, auburn hue to the clouds. I sat down on a bench overlooking the water and read some of my book, The 42nd Parallel, book one of the U.S.A. trilogy, by John Dos Passos. The surface of the river was shining and rippling and the air was comfortably cool. Behind me a long train sluggishly crawled by on the tracks immediately alongside the riverside park, pulling away, boxcar after boxcar, clanging and clanking until fading off toward the south, to the train depot.
The Philadelphia Flyers won game 7 against the Washington Capitals, thereby winning the series. Game 1 against the Montreal Canadiens is this Thursday. Go Flyers!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Dissection of a Candidate's Claim
On one of these political commercials, a local Philadelphia candidate (I believe it's John Dougherty) says, "I won't give up until crime is down."
Here's my response: So if I'm hearing you correctly, if crime goes down, then right then and there, you'll just give up, right? It won't matter what other issues are confronting the city at that time, you'll stop getting out of bed in the morning once crime goes down.
Which leads to the next logical conclusion: this guy doesn't really expect crime to go down, because if he truly did, then his campaign would reflect his striving -- once crime goes down -- for an unfulfilling job, and this defies logic and human nature.
Here's my response: So if I'm hearing you correctly, if crime goes down, then right then and there, you'll just give up, right? It won't matter what other issues are confronting the city at that time, you'll stop getting out of bed in the morning once crime goes down.
Which leads to the next logical conclusion: this guy doesn't really expect crime to go down, because if he truly did, then his campaign would reflect his striving -- once crime goes down -- for an unfulfilling job, and this defies logic and human nature.
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